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PSYCHOLOGY 



AN INTRODUCTORY STUDY OF THE STRUCTURE AND 
FUNCTION OF HUMAN CONSCIOUSNESS 



BY 

JAMES ROWLAND i^NGELL 

Head of the Department of Psychology tn the University 
of Chicago 



FOURTH EDITION, REVISED 




NEW YORK 

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 






Copyright, 1904, 1908, 

BY 

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 






s^ 



PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION 

/7f 

Psychologists have hitherto devoted the larger part of 
, their energy to investigating the structure of the mind. Of 
m late, however, there has heen manifest a disposition to deal 
more fully with its functional and genetic phases. To deter- 
mine how consciousness develops and how it operates is felt to 
be quite as important as the discovery of its constituent ele- 
ments. This hook attempts to set forth in an elementary 
way the generally accepted facts and principles bearing upon 
these adjacent fields of psychological inquiry, so far as they 
pertain to the mind of man. 

Inasmuch as it is mental activity, rather than mental 
structure, which has immediate significance for thought and. 
conduct, it is hoped that students of philosophy, as well as 
students of education, may find the book especially useful.* 
The author has had the interests of such students constantly 
in mind. 

The differing conditions under which introductory courses 
in psychology are- offered at various institutions render it 
desirable that a text-book should be adaptable to more than 
one set of circumstances. The present text has accordingly 
been arranged with the purpose of permitting considerable 
■ flexibility in the emphasis laid upon the several portions of 
the subject. This fact accounts for an amount of repetition 
and cross-reference which otherwise would have been regarded 
as unnecessary. 

To my teachers. Professor John Dewey and Professor Wil- 
liam James, I owe much of what may be found good in these 
pages. Were not the list too long to recount, I should gladly 
express my obligations to the many other psychologists by 
whom I have been influenced in the formation of my viewB. 

iii 



Jiv PREFACE 

I am much indebted for advice and suggestion to a number 
of my colleagues in the University of Chicago, especially to 
Professor H. H. Donaldson, Professor A. W. Moore, and Dr. 
J. B Watson. My vs^ife has given me great assistance in 
the preparation of my manuscript. 

For the use of a number of illustrations acknowledgments 
are due to the following authors and publishers : William 
James; D. Appleton & Co., publishers of Barker's "The 
Nervous System"; W. B. Saunders & Co., publishers of "The 
American Text-Book of Physiology"; Walter Scott, Ltd., 
publishers of Donaldson's "Growth of the Brain"; John 
Murray, publisher of McKendrick and Snodgrass' "Physi- 
ology of the Sense Organs"; and G. P. Putnam's Sons, pub- 
lishers of Loeb's "Physiology of the Brain.'* 

J. E. A. 
University of Chicago, 

November, 1904. 



PREFACE TO THE FOURTH EDITION 

The present edition contains a large amount of new 
material, chiefly empirical in character. To offset this addi- 
tion, many of the more strictly theoretical discussions have 
been condensed. Most of the new matter is so introduced that 
it may be omitted if necessary without seriously impairing the 
exposition of general principles and theory. The old ma- 
terial has been re-arranged, many new drawings have been 
supplied, the paragraph headings have been elaborated, a list 
of collateral reading has been added at the close of the text, 
and at every point an earnest effort has been made to secure 
greater lucidity. 

Although there are occasional changes in the form of ex-" 
pression, there are no conscious alterations of the fundamental 
principles formulated in the earlier editions. For example, 
the presentations of imagery and volition have been somewhat 
modified in the interests of cogency, but the essential doctrines 
remain. 

After careful consideration I have refrained from adding 
a set of practical exercises for students, despite many re- 
quests for such material. I am convinced that a competent 
teacher can with advantage devise a group appropriate to 
his own peculiar needs. If time be lacking for arranging 
such a set, there are now available several good store-houses 
from which supplies can be drawn, not to mention the special 
manuals which are beginning to appear to meet just this 
need. 

It is a pleasure to acknowledge my obligation to many 
teachers in all parts of the country, to whose appreciative 
and intelligent criticism is due no small number of the 



vi PREFACE 

alterations incorporated in this edition. The real merits and 
defects of a text-book can only be adequately recognized in the 
actual stress of class-room, use, I am therefore particularly 
grateful for the suggestions made by instructors working 
under conditions somewhat different from those out of which 
this book originally grew. 

To my colleague, Dr. John B. Watson, to Professor Henry 
H. Donaldson of the Wistar Institute, and to Professor 
Arthur H. Pierce of Smith College, I am under an especial 
debt of gratitude for wise advice and helpful criticism. 

Acknowledgments are also due to the following authors 
and publishers for their kind permission to make use of illus- 
trations from their works: Professor W. H. Howell and W. 
B. Saunders & Co., publishers of his "Text-Book of Physi- 
ology"; Professors T. Hough and W. T, Sedgwick, and 
Ginn & Co., publishers of their "Elements of Physiology." 

J. E. A. 
University of Chicago, 

January, 1908. 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER I PAGE 

The Problems and Methods of Psychology . . 1 

CHAPTEE II 
The Psychophysical Organism and the Nervous 

System . 13 

CHAPTER III 
Mind, Neural Action and Habit 59 

CHAPTER IV 

Attention, Discrimination, and Association . . 80 

CHAPTER V 
Sensation 109 

CHAPTER VI 
Perception 151 

CHAPTER VII 
The Perception of Spatial and Temporal Rela- 
tions 173 

CHAPTER VIII 

Imagination 196 

vii 



Viii CONTENTS 

CHAPTEE IX PAGE 

Memory 222 

CHAPTEE X 
The Consciousness of Meaning and the Eokma- 

TiON OF Concepts 245 

CHAPTEE XI 
Judgment and the Elements of Eeasoning . . 267 

CHAPTEE XII 
The Forms and Functions of Eeasoning .... 279 

CHAPTEE XIII 

The Affective Elements of Consciousness . . . 301 

CHAPTEE XIV 

Feeling and the General Principles of Affective 

Consciousness . 316 

CHAPTEE XV 
Eeflex Action and Instinct 334 

CHAPTEE XVI 
The Important Human Instincts 346 

CHAPTEE XVII 
Nature of Impulse 363 

CHAPTEE XVIII 
The Nature of Emotion , , , 369 



CONTENTS ix 

CHAPTEE XIX PAGE 

General Theory of Emotion 380 

CHAPTEE XX 
Elementary Features of Volition 396 

CHAPTEE XXI 
Eelation of Volition to Interest, Effort, and 

Desire 419 

CHAPTEE XXII 
Character and the Will 434 

CHAPTEE XXIII 

The Self . 440 

Collateral Eeadings 459 

Index . 465 



PSYCHOLOGY 

CHAPTEE I 
PEOBLEMS AND METHODS OF PSYCHOLOGY 

Definition of Psychology. — Psychology is commonly de- 
fined as the science of consciousness. It is the business of 
a science systematically to describe and explain the phenom- 
ena with which it is engaged. Chemistry, physics, and the 
various branches of biology all attempt to deal in this man- 
ner with some special portion of the facts or processes of 
nature. Mental facts, or facts of consciousness, constitute 
the field of psychology. 

The Nature of Consciousness. — Consciousness we can only 
define in terms of itself. Sensations, ideas, pains, pleasures, 
acts of memory, imagination, and will — ^these may serve to 
illustrate the experiences we mean to indicate by the term; 
and our best endeavour to construct a successful definition 
results in some such list, of which we can only say: "These 
taken together are what I mean by consciousness." A 
psychological treatise is really an attempt to furnish the 
essentials for such a catalogue. 

It is generally maintained that despite our difiiculty in 
framing a satisfactory definition of consciousness, we can 
at least detect one or two of its radical differences from 
the physical objects which make up the rest of our cosmos. 



2 PSYCHOLOGY 

These latter always possess position and extension, i. e., they 
occupy space. Psychical facts, or events, never do; on the 
other hand they possess one characteristic which, so far as 
we know, is wholly wanting to physical facts, in that they 
exist for themselves. A man not only has sensations and 
ideas, he knows that he has them. A stone or other physical 
object has no such knowledge of its own existence or of its 
own experiences. Yet, whatever may be the value of these 
distinctions, we need entertain no real fear of encountering 
any serious misapprehension of the inner nature of conscious- 
ness, for each one of us experiences it every day for himself 
and each is thus fitted to discuss it with some measure of 
accuracy. 

Former Definitions of Psychology. — Formerly psychology 
was often defined as the science of the soul. But the word 
soul generally implies something above and beyond the 
thoughts and feelings of which we are immediately conscious; 
and as it is these latter phenomena with which psychology is 
primarily engaged, this definition is now rarely used by care- 
ful writers. Psychology is also defined at times as the 
science of mind. The objection to this definition is that the 
word mind ordinarily implies a certain continuity, unity, and 
personality, which is, indeed, characteristic of normal human 
beings; but which may, for all we can see, be wholly lacking 
in certain unusual psychical experiences like those of in- 
sanity, or those of dream states, and may be wanting at times 
in animals. All consciousness everywhere, normal or abnor- 
mal, human or animal, is the subject matter which the 
psychologist attempts to describe and explain; and no defini- 
tion of his science is wholly acceptable which designates more 
or less than just this. Nevertheless, we shall often employ 
the term mind in this book, using it to designate the entirety 
of the intelligent processes which occur in the organism. 

The Procedure of the Psychologist. — In his description of 
conscious processes the psychologist attempts to point out the 



PROBLEMS OF PSYCHOLOGY 3 

characteristic features of each distinguishable group of facts 
and of each member of such groups, and to show how they 
differ from one another. Thus, for example, the general 
group known as "sensations" would be described and marked 
off from the group knowji as "ideas"; and the peculiarities 
of each form of sensation, such as the visual and tactile forms, 
would be described and distinguished from one another and 
from those belonging to the auditory form. The psychologist's 
explanations consist chiefly in showing (1) how complex 
psychical conditions are made up of simpler ones, (2) how 
the various psychical groups which he has analysed grow and 
develop, and finally (3a) how these various conscious pro- 
cesses are connected with physiological activities, and (3b) 
with objects or events in the social and physical world con- 
etituting the environment. 

The Fields of Psychology. — In this book, which is devoted 
primarily to general psychology, we shall be mainly concerned 
with the facts and principles of normal human consciousness, 
its constitution, its modes of operation, and its development. 
But we shall avail ourselves, wherever feasible, of useful ma- 
terial from various allied fields, such as child psychology, 
abnormal psychology, and animal psychology. 

Child psychology is occupied with the study of the mental 
processes of infants and young children, with special refer- 
ence to the facts of growth. 

Ainormal psychology has to do (1) with the study of the 
unusual phases of conscious process, such as are met with in 
trance, hallucinations, hypnotism, etc.; and is concerned (2) 
with the more definitely diseased forms of mentality, such as 
characterise insanity. 

Individual psychology: As is well known, individuals 
vary from one another in many ways as regards the precise 
texture of their minds. For example, certain persons have 
good memories for visual experiences, others for .auditory. 
Certain people enjoy music, to others it is an affliction. Many 



4 PSYCHOLOGY 

persons are stolid in temperament, whereas others are highly 
excitable. The study of such personal traits as these is called 
individual psychology. The term variational psychology is 
often employed to cover not only investigation of these 
purely individualistic differences, hut also the study of racial 
and other group peculiarities such as are revealed in social 
psychology and folk psychology. Within this field of varia- 
tional psychology would fall the study of genius, of the 
criminal, of sex differences, of mental types and tempera- 
ments. Almost all the great fields of human interest and 
experience are now studied from the side of psychology and 
we hear accordingly of religious psychology, of the psychology 
of art, of educational psychology, and so forth. 

Social psychology, in its broadest sense, has to do mainly 
with the psychological principles involved in those expressions 
of mental life which take form in social relations, organiza- 
tions, and practices, e. g., the mental attributes of crowds and 
mobs as contrasted with the mental characteristics of the in- 
dividuals constituting them. A branch of social psychology, 
often known as folk psychology, or race psychology, is con- 
cerned with the psychical attributes of peoples, especially 
those of primitive groups as contrasted with civilised nations. 
The development of language affords one of the interesting 
problems in this field. 

Animal psychology, frequently called comparative psy- 
chology, is engaged with the study of consciousness, wherever, 
apart from man, its presence can be detected throughout the 
range of animal life. The term comparative psychology is 
also applied more broadly though more accurately to those 
branches of psychology, such as child psychology, abnormal 
psychology, social and race psychology, as well as animal 
psychology, in which the phenomena studied are compared 
with other ranges of mental activity, especially with the 
psychical processes of normal adult human life. Those 
phases of psychology which touch particularly upon the 



PROBLEMS OF PSYCHOLOGY 5 

phenomena of development, whether racial or individual, are 
usually designated genetic psychology. 

The Methods of Psychology. — (1) Introspection. — The 
fundamental psychological method is introspection. Intro- 
spection means looking inward, as its derivation indicates. 
As a psychological method it consists simply in the direct 
examination of one's own mental processes. Much mystery 
has been attached to the fact that the mind can thus stand ofE 
and observe its own operations, and criticism has been lav- 
ishly devoted to proving the impossibility of securing scien- 
tific knowledge in any such fashion as this. But it is an un- 
deniable fact that by means of memory we are made aware 
of our mental acts, and we can trace in this manner by care- 
ful and systematic observation many of the rudimentary facts 
and principles peculiar to human consciousness. When a 
number of us cooperate in such introspective observation, we 
greatly augment the exactness and the breadth of our results, 
and the accepted doctrines of psychology have actually been 
established by the successive observations of many investi- 
gators in much this manner. 

(2) Objective Observation. — Moreover, we are able to 
supplement introspection by immediate objective observa- 
tion of other individuals. It is thus possible, for example, 
to detect much which is most characteristic of the emotions, 
such as anger and fear, by watching the actions of persons 
about us and noting their expressions, their gestures, etc. 
The facts' which we thus obtain must of course be interpreted 
in terms of our direct knowledge of our own experience, 
gained introspectively. But such observation of others often 
makes us sensitive to psychological processes in ourselves, 
which we should otherwise overlook. Finally, it is clear that 
our psychological facts, whether gained from observation of 
ourselves, or of others, must be made the subject of careful 
reflection and systematic arrangement before they can become 
of scientific value; otherwise they would be purely hap- 



6 PSYCHOLOGY 

hazard, disconnected fragments, with no more meaning than 
any other collection of odds and ends. The need of such 
orderly reasoned arrangement is no more and no less true of 
the psychological facts gained by observations of others, or 
by introspection, than it is of physical facts discovered in 
any realm of science. The facts of gravity had been noticed 
again and again, but it required the ordering mind of a 
Newton to set them in intelligent array. Whenever we 
speak of objective observation, or of introspection, as methods, 
we shall understand, therefore, this systematic and scientific 
implication of the terms. The remaining psychological 
methods which we shall mention are simply developments of 
these two in the direction of systematising, perfecting and 
extending their employment. 

(3) Experiment. — Experimental psychology, sometimes 
Bpoken of as "the new psychology,^^ or the "laboratory psy- 
chology," is perhaps the most vigorous and characteristic 
psychological method of the present day. It is simply an in- 
genious system for bringing introspection and observation 
under control, so that their results can be verified by different 
observers, just as the result of a chemical experiment may be 
verified by anyone who will repeat the conditions. In every 
branch of science an experiment consists in making observa- 
tions of phenomena under conditions of control, so that one 
may know just what factors are at work in producing the 
results observed. A psychological experiment is based on pre- 
cisely the same principle. 

The larger part of the psychological investigation con- 
ducted by means of these several methods has thus far been 
devoted to the qualitative analysis of consciousness. In recent 
years, however, the development of experimental procedure 
has stimulated an increasing interest in tlie study of the 
quantitative aspects of mental process. Because of this fact 
a sharp distinction is occasionally made nowadays between 
qualitative and quantitative psychology. 



PROBLEMS OF PSYCHOLOGY 7 

(4) Physiological Psychology and (5) Psychophysics. — 

Physiological psychology and psychophysics, which are both 
closely connected, in spirit and in fact, with experimental 
psychology, are especially devoted to investigating the rela- 
tions between consciousness on the one hand, and the nervous 
system and the physical world on the other. Much of physi- 
ological psychology, and all of psychophysics, is experi- 
mental so far as concerns the methods employed. They both 
furnish information supplementary to that gathered by 
ordinary introspection and observation. 

Psychophysics forms a part of the larger field of quantita- 
tive psychology to which reference has just been made. Its 
aim is to reduce to quantitative formulae the relations of con- 
scious processes to the physical world. For instance, it 
attempts to determine the exact physical changes in the in- 
tensity of light necessary to produce noticeable changes in 
the sensations which light occasions. Physiological psy- ^ 
chology on the other hand is devoted primarily to determin- , 
ing the correlation between the activities of the body, particu- 
larly of the nervous system, and the various forms of con- 
scious process, such,, for example, as vision and hearing. We 
shall make frequent use of material drawn from this source. 

Relations between the Various Methods and Fields of 
Psychology. — Evidently certain of these methods are applica- 
ble to more than one field of psychological investigation. 
Observation is valid everywhere. Experiment can be em- 
ployed with children, with adults and with animals. Intro- 
spection is available with normal adults and can often be 
used with children. Many abnormal conditions permit its 
use. Other inter-relations will readily suggest themselves. 

The Psychologist's Standpoint. — In our study of mental 
processes we shall adopt the biological point of view Just now 
dominant in psychology, and regard consciousness, not as 
a metaphysical entity to be investigated apart from other 
things, but rather as one among many manifestations of 



8 PSYCHOLOGY 

organic life, to be understood properly only when regarded in 
connection with life phenomena. We shall discover, as we go 
on, abundant reason for the belief that conscious processes 
and certain nervous processes are indissolubly bound up with 
one another in the human being. But at this point, without 
attempting to justify the assertion, we may lay it down as a 
basal postulate that the real human organism is a psychophys- 
ical organism, and that the mental portion of it is not to be 
completely or correctly apprehended without reference to 
the physiological portion. The psychophysical organism 
is, moreover, a real unit. The separation of the mind from 
the body which we commonly make in thinking about them 
is a separation made in behalf of some one of our theoretical 
or practical interests, and as such, the separation is often 
serviceable. In actual life experience, however, the two 
things are never separated. Therefore, although our primary 
task is to analyse and explain mental facts, we shall attempt 
to do this in closest possible connection with their accom- 
panying physiological processes. 

Our adoption of the biological point of view, while it im- 
plies no disrespect for metaphysics, will mean not only that 
we shall study consciousness in connection with physiological 
processes wherever possible, but it will also mean that we 
shall regard all the operations of consciousness — all our sen- 
sations, all our emotions, and all our acts of will — as so 
many expressions of organic adaptations to our environments, 
an environment which we must remember is social as well 
as physical. An organism represents, among other things, a 
device for executing movements in response to the stimulations 
and demands of the environment. In the main these move- 
ments are of an organically beneficial character, otherwise the 
creature would perish. Mind seems to involve the master 
devices through which these adaptive operations of organic 
life may be made most perfect. We shall consequently 
attempt to see how the various features of consciousness are 



PROBLEMS OF PSYCHOLOGY 9 

concerned in this adaptive process. Let it not be supposed 
that such a point of view will render us oblivious of, or in- 
sensitive to, the higher and more spiritual implications of con- 
sciousness. On the contrary, we shall learn to see these 
higher implications with their complete background, rather 
than in detachment and isolation. 

Psychology and Natural Science. — In one important par- 
ticular the method of psychology follows the procedure of the 
natural sciences, such as physics, botany, and geology. Psy- 
chology takes for itself a certain definite domain, i. e., 
consciousness as a life process. Moreover, it starts out with 
certain assumptions, or postulates, as they are called, about its 
subject matter, w'hich it refuses to challenge. The chemist, 
for example, never stops to inquire whether matter really 
exists or is simply an illusion. He assumes its reality with- 
out question, and forthwith goes about his business. So the 
psychologist assumes in a common-sense way the reality of 
mind and the reality of matter. Nor does he question that . 
mind can know matter. These assumptions prevent the 
necessity of his untangling the metaphysical puzzles which 
are involved at these points, and leave him free to investigate 
his field in a purely empirical way. He also attempts, 
wherever possible, to emulate the natural scientist's use of 
the idea of causation. Our most reliable forms of knowledge 
about nature are based upon our knowledge of cause and 
effect relations. A great deal of our chemical knowledge is 
in this way exceedingly precise and exact; whereas the lack 
of such knowledge renders much of our acquaintance with 
disease extremely superficial and unreliable. 

The subject matter of psychology evidently brings it into 
a distinctly universal relation to all the other sciences, for 
these sciences are severally engaged in the development of 
knowledge, and the knowledge-process is itself one of the 
subjects in which psychology is most interested. 

Psychology and Biology. — Inasmuch as psychology is 



lO PSYCHOLOGY 

occupied with life phenomena, it is clearly most nearly related 
to the biological sciences. Indeed, as a natural science it 
obviously belongs to the biological group. This relationship 
is as close in fact as it is in theory. The modern psychologist 
makes frequent use of material furnished him by the anat- 
omist, the physiologist, the zoologist, and the alienist, and 
he gives them in return, when he can, such psychological 
facts as they find it necessary to employ. 

Psycliology and Philosophy. — Psychology has developed 
historically out of philosophy, and although it is now in many 
ways practically independent, its relations with philosophy- 
are necessarily very intimate. The connection is particularly 
close with those branches of philosophy commonly called 
normative, i. e., ethics, logic, and aesthetics. These inquiries 
are respectively concerned with questions of right and wrong, 
truth and error, beauty and ugliness. It is evident that the 
profitable discussion of such problems must involve a knowl- 
edge of the mental operations employed when we make a 
right or wrong choice, when we reason falsely or truly, when 
we experience pleasure in listening to music, etc. In a sense, 
therefore, psychology furnishes the indispensable introduc- 
tion to these several philosophical disciplines. It affords an 
acquaintance with the mental processes which lead respec- 
tively to conduct, to knowledge, and to the creation and 
appreciation of art. It thus enables an intelligent appre- 
hension of the problems which arise in these spheres, and 
furnishes much of the material essential for their solution. 
A similar thing is true, though in a less conspicuous and 
obvious way, of the relation of psychology to metaphysics, 
and to that form of metaphysical inquiry which formerly was 
known as rational psychology. 

By rational psychology was commonly understood the in- 
quiry into the conditions rendering the existence of conscious- 
ness possible. Evidently these inquiries, i. e., rational psy- 
chology and metaphysics, together with what is known as 



PROBLEMS OF PSYCHOLOGY II 

epistemology, or the theory of knowledge, are engaged with 
Just such problems as underlie the assumptions of psychology 
and the natural sciences, e. g., the reality of matter, its inde- 
pendence of mind, etc. It is on this account that metaphysics 
is said to be the science of sciences. It attempts to apprehend 
the essence of reality, to solve the problem of the ultimate 
nature of mind and matter and their relations to one another. 
Although metaphysics is in this sense more fundamental than 
psychology, and logically antecedent to it, it is so extensively 
concerned with mental processes, that a knowledge of psy- 
chology is commonly recognised as practically indispensable 
for its effective conduct or apprehension. All these branches 
of philosophy clearly involve, as does psychology, the study 
of consciousness in a certain sense. But whereas these dis- 
tinctly philosophical disciplines are primarily interested in 
some one or another of the implications and products of 
thought processes, psychology is interested primarily in the 
constitution and operation of consciousness itself. We may 
question whether ultimately there are any hard and fast 
lines severing these philosophical inquiries from one another 
and from psychology. The distinctions are perhaps rather 
practical than ultimate. One inquiry inevitably shades ofl 
into the others. 

Psychology and Education. — Psychology is related to 
educational theory in much the way that it is to ethics. It 
may be said to be related to actual educational procedure as 
theory is to practice. Education has as its function the 
symmetrical development of the powers of the individual. 
What the natural relations may be among these faculties, what 
are the laws of their unfolding, what the judicious methods 
for their cultivation or repression — these and a thousand 
similar practical questions can be answered by the assistance 
of psychological observation, or else not at all. The result 
which we desire to attain in our educational system must 
be, in a considerable measure, determined by the social and 



12 PSYCHOLOGY 

ethical ideals we have in view. But the securing of the re- 
sults, the realising of the ideals which we have set up, through 
our educational machinery — this must be accomplished, if 
we would work with true insight and not by blind experi- 
ment, through a real knowledge of human mental processes. 
We shall keep constantly before us in this book the facts of 
growth and the facts of adaptation to the demands of the 
environment. Clearly these are the facts of practical signifi- 
cance for educational procedure. 



CHAPTER II 

THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM AND THE 
NERVOUS SYSTEM 

The Union of the Psychical and the Physical in the 
Organism. — We shall now examine some of the evidence con- 
firmatory of our assertion in the last chapter, that conscious 
processes and physiological processes are intimately connected 
in the organism. We shall in this way discover some of the 
reasons why it is desirable for us at the outset of our study 
of mental life to learn something about the nervous system, 
to which subject we shall then devote the remaining portion 
of the chapter. 

Evidence from Familiar Facts. — Common observation 
informs us of at least two fundamental types of fact con- 
cerning these mind-body relations. We know in this manner 
(1) that our consciousness or knowledge of the world about 
us depends primarily upon the use of our senses. A person 
born blind and deaf has neither visual nor auditory sensa- 
tions or ideas, and never can have, so long as he remains desti- 
tute of eyes and ears. By means of the other senses he may 
be taught much about colours and sounds, as Helen Keller 
has been, who lost her sight and hearing in infancy; but he 
never can have the experience which you or I have, when we 
see a colour or hear a sound, or when we permit a melody 
"^to run through our heads," as we say, or when we call into 
our minds the appearance of a friend's face. Indeed, if a 
child becomes blind before he is five years old he commonly 
loses all his visual ideas and memories just as completely as 
though he had been born blind. There is every reason to 
believe that if we were deprived of all our senses from birth, 



14 PSYCHOLOGY 

we could never possess knowledge of any kind. The senses 
thus hold the keys which unlock the doors of intelligence to 
the mind, and the senses are physical, not mental, things. 
Apparently, therefore, the most simple and fundamental 
operations of consciousness are bound up with the existence 
and activity of certain bodily organs. 

Common observation also informs us (2) that the expres- 
sions of mind ordinarily take the form of muscular move- 
ments which we call acts. We hear a bell and our conscious- 
ness of the sound results in our going to open the door. We 
consider a course of action, and the outcome of our delibera- 
tion issues in the form of words or deeds, all of which con- 
sist primarily in muscular movements. Strange as it may 
appear, even keeping still involves muscular activity. It 
would accordingly seem as though the mind were hemmed in 
between the sense organs on the one hand and the muscles 
on the other. It would be a truer expression of the facts, 
however, to say that these are the tools with which the mind 
works. Through the sense organs it receives its raw material, 
and by its own operations this material is worked up and 
organised into the coherent product which we call intelli- 
gence. This intelligence is then made effective in practical 
ways through the rationally controlled action of the voluntary 
muscles. 

There are other facts of a well-known kind whose precise 
purport is, perhaps, less evident, but whose general implica- 
tion of intimate connections between mind and body is iden- 
tical with that of the considerations which we have Just 
mentioned. We know, for example, that blows and wounds 
may seriously disturb consciousness, or even destroy it. The 
similar effects of many drugs, such as alcohol, ether, and 
hashish, are matters of common knowledge. Even coffee 
and tea exercise a mild influence upon our psychical mood; 
and the change in general disposition which frequently fol- 
lows indulgence in a satisfactory meal is a phenomenon 



THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 1 5 

familiar to every family circle. Bodily disease often pro- 
duces a most marked effect upoii the mind, and conversely 
the different effect upon certain diseases, of a cheerful or a 
depressed mental attitude, is a subject of frequent remark. 

Evidence from Scientific Facts. — When we examine the 
less familiar evidence offered us by certain branches of modern 
science, we iind our previous impressions strongly confirmed. 
Thus we learn from pathology, the science of disease, that 
disordered conditions of particular portions of the brain tissue 
are accompanied by disturbances of definite kinds in con- 
eciousness. In this way we learn, for example, that the 
destruction or disintegration of the tissue of one region in 
the brain is followed by the loss of one's visual memories, 
so that one cannot recall the appearance of familiar objects. 
A similar disorder in another region costs one the control 
of certain muscles in the hand, etc. The science of anatomy 
is able to demonstrate structural connections of nerves be- 
tween these diseased parts of the brain and the sense organs 
and muscles over which consciousness has lost control, thus 
supporting the implication of the pathological evidence 
already cited. Experimental physiology shows us, that by 
stimulating (either mechanically or electrically) certain brain 
areas in animals, we can produce movements of definite 
muscles, whereas by extirpating these regions we can at least 
temporarily cripple the muscles and render the will power- 
less over them. By similar excisions of other brain areas we 
can cripple definite sense organs. Muscular movements are 
als© elicited by stimulating the surfaces of the human brain 
in cases where accident or operation has exposed the proper 
regions. Thus pathology, anatomy, and physiology all point 
to the same intimate relation of mind and body and indicate 
more specifically than the observations of every-day experi- 
ence could do, a fixed and positive relation between definite 
parts of the nervous system and such special phases of con- 
sciousness as the visual, the auditory, etc. 



l6 PSYCHOLOGY 

Moreover, comparative anatomy, comparative physiology, 
and comparative psychology all converge upon another 
cognate principle, i. e., that the development of consciousness 
among various genera and species of the organic world has 
run parallel with the development of the nervous system. 
Taking all these considerations into account, the deliverances 
of common sense as well as the teachings of science, it is 
easy to understand why the modern psychologist finds it judi- 
cious in his study of consciousness to learn all that he can 
about the nervous system, the sense organs, and the motor 
mechanism. 

The Nervous System. — It will assist us in gaining a work- 
ing idea of the nervous system to bear in mind the fact that 
its fundamental function consists in the conversion of incom- 
ing nerve impulses into outgoing nerve impulses causing 
movements of a kind tending to preserve the creature. The 
stimulations to which it responds are such things as light, 
heat, sound and mechanical pressure, together with various 
other physical and chemical processes of nature. Creatures 
destitute of some form of nervous system are practically in- 
capable of prompt and appropriate adaptation to their sur- 
roundings. Plants are thus in large measure the passive 
victims of their environments. Injury to one part commonly 
produces little or no immediate effect upon the rest of the 
plant. But by means of its nervous system every part of an 
animal organism is brought into vital connection with every 
other part and with the outside world. Adaptive cooperation 
becomes the controlling principle in the life activities. This 
cooperation, or coordination, takes the form of movements 
made in response to sensory stimulations, and the most 
highly evolved type of nervous system, such as that of the 
human being, differs from a very rudimentary one, like that 
of the jelly fish, only in the form and complexity of the 
devices by which these stimulations and movements are con- 
nected. When studying the structure of the nervous systenu 



THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 27 

it should always be remembered that this fact about the co- 
ordination of stimuli and movements offers the clue by which 
even its most intricate arrangements may be interpreted. 

The Elementary Structures. — The nervous system is 
made up of elementary structures called neurones. A sketch 




Fig. 1. Isolated body of a large cell from the ventral horn of the 
spinal cord of man. Multiplied 200 diameters (Donaldson 
after Obersteiner) . A, axone (each cell has but one); D, 
dendrites; JV, nucleus with enclosures; P, pigment spot. 

of certain common forms of neurones is shown in figures 1, 
2, and 3.* It will be seen that the neurone is a protoplasmic 
structure made up of a cell-body containing a nucleus, and 
often within this nucleus smaller neucleoli, while from its 

•This chapter cannot be thoroughly mastered without a careful 
study of the cuts and diagrams. The conception of the nervous 
system which is adopted is that at present generally prevalent 
among neurologists. It must be remembered, however, that the 
science of neurology is growing with astonishing rapidity, and 
radical changes of doctrine are consequently possible at any time. 



tS 



PSYCHOLOGY 




Fia. 2. A, cell from the spinal ganglion; B, cell from the ventral 
horn of spinal cord; C, cell from the sympathetic, D, cell from 
the spinal cord; E, pyramidal cell from the cerebral cortex; F, 
cell from the cerebellar cortex; a, axones; d, dendrites; c, col- 
laterals; p, peripheral part of the fibre; cl, central part. 
Arrows indicate the direction of conduction for nervous im- 
pulses. (Modified from Morria and from Toldt.) 



THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 



19 



surfaces are given off filaments of various forms and sizes. 
The filaments range in length all the way from a fraction of 
a millimetre up to five feet, and in bulk they generally ex- 
ceed the cell-body very much. The whole structure, includ- 
ing both filaments and cell-body, constitutes the neurone. 
It has been estimated that in the nervous system of the adult 




Fig. 3. A-D, showing the phylogenetic development in a series of 
vertebrates ; a-e, the ontogenetic development of growing cells 
in a typical mammal; in both cases only pyramidal cells from 
the cerebrum are shown; A, frog; B, lizard; C, rat; D, man; 
a, neuioblast, or young cell, without dendrites; 6, commencing 
dendrites; c, dendrites further developed; d, first appearance 
of collateral branches; e, further development of collaterals and 
dendrites ; ax, ax ones ; de, dendrites ; cl, collaterals. ( Modified 
from Donaldson after Ramon y Cajal.) 

human being there are about 11,000 millions of these 
neurones in various stages of development. Their average 
volume is probably about .00009 of a cubic millimetre. 

Certain of the fibrous processes of the neurones are called 



20 



PSYCHOLOGY 



axones or neurites, others are known as dendrites. The ax- 
ones, as may be seen from figures 2 and 3, are generally 
smooth in their contours, and when they branch, the divisions 
commonly occur at right angles. Each neurone has but a 
single axone. These axones are the 'fibres' of common par- 
lance, the dendrites being from the structural point of view 



D 



A.X, 



3.2. 1. A X. 

Fig. 4. A, diagram of niediillated nerve fibre; 1, the axis cylinder; 
2, the medullary sheath; 3, the primitive sheath or neurilemma; 
B, a sketch of medullated nerve fibre; AX, axis cylinder; M, 
medullary sheath; P, primitive sheath; N, node of Ranvier; G, 
fibres of the sympathetic system. They are in the main un- 
medullated; D, a cross section of B showing the same struc- 
tures. (Modified from Toldt and Thorndike.) 

essentially parts of the cell-body. Within the central nervous 
system the dendrites are rougher and branch more gradually 
from one another, somewhat like the sticks of a fan. The 
fully developed axones have a peculiar structure, shown in 
figure 4. The central strand is known as the axis cylinder. 
This is a transparent mass which constitutes the true nerve. 



THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 21 

and conducts the nervous impulses from one point to another. 
Outside the axis cylinder is a relatively thick covering known 
as the medullary sheath. This sheath is secondarily acquired 
and generally disappears near the cell-bodies and also 
wherever the fibre terminus approaches other fibre terminals. 
Outside of this again there is a thin nucleated membranous 
sheath known as the neurilemma; found;, however, only out- 
side the central nervous system, i. e., in regions outside the 
spinal cord and brain. 

Functions of Elementary Structures. — Although the cell- 
body and fibre are really parts of a single organic cell — the 
neurone — their notable difference in appearance is accom- 
panied by certain differences in function. Both cell-bodies 
and fibres are sensitive to stimulation, are irritable, as the 
physiologists say, and both possess conductivity. In addition 
to these functions the cell-bodies have ordinarily been sup- 
posed to possess the capacities of either reinforcing or in- 
hibiting the impulses sent to them. It has also been belieyed 
that at times they send out nervous excitation along the 
fibres without any detectable external stimulation, i. e., that 
their action is occasionally automatic. Whether the cell- 
bodies really possess these properties or not, at least they 
furnish a rich system of interconnections for the neurones 
by means of the fibres which radiate from them as centers. 

It seems to be well established, too, that the cell-bodies 
exercise highly important nutritive functions. Certainly if 
the cell-body be destroyed, the fibre promptly dies. Indeed, 
certain neurologists hold that the cell-body is not necessarily 
involved in the truly nervous activity of the system at all, 
but is mainly confined to these nutritional functions. 

Eecent investigations strongly suggest that the places at 
which neurones come into active relations with one another, 
i. e., their terminals, are much more important than had been 
suspected. Some of the functions formerly attributed to the 
cell-bodies, particularly those of inhibition, may be prop- 



22 PSYCHOLOGY 

erties of these junction regions. The term 'synapsis' is gen- 
erally used to designate these unions. The nature of the 
contacts will be described presently. 

On the whole it seems doubtful whether the differences 
between the nervous functions of the cell-bodies and the 
fibres are as marked as was until recently believed, but in 
any case the neurones are so linked together as to bring 
sensitive end-organs, like the eye and ear and the nerves of 
the skin, into relations with (1) the various nervous cen- 
ters of the brain and spinal cord, and through these with (2) 
the muscles and glands. 

It is supposed that inside the central nervous system the 
axones are ordinarily employed to carry impulses away from 
the cell-bodies, whereas the dendrites probably carry impulses 
toward them. Outside the central system the afferent fibres 
leading to the spinal ganglia resemble axones in structure, 
and so offer apparent exceptions to this rule. Moreover, in 
certain cases the axones seem to be given off from dendrites, 
so that the nervous current in passing from one to the other 
need not enter the cell-body. Whether this appearance be 
misleading or not, the usual arrangement is undoubtedly one 
in which the cell-body intervenes between the axone and the 
dendrites. In any event the whole nervous system is nothing 
but an aggregation of neurones, in a frame of connective tis- 
sue, blood-vessels and lymphatics combined, with the support- 
ing tissue, called neuroglia, which holds the neurones in place. 
A nervous impulse originating in the sensory surface of- the 
body, for example in the retina, may be transmitted from 
one group of neurones to another, until finally it issues, per- 
haps, from the nerves of the spinal cord, and produces a 
movement of the foot. This is what would occur if one 
should step aside upon seeing a heavy object about to fall. 
In this process of transmitting the impulse through the 
nervous system, it Is not necessary that the groups of neurones 
should be actually in contact with one another, although 



THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 23 

this may occur. But they must at least be close together. 
The Nervous Current. — The exact physical nature of 
neural excitement is not known. Various theories have been 
propounded in the effort to identify it with recognised forms 
of chemical or electrical activity, but thus far no hypothesis 
has been suggested which accords satisfactorily with all the 
facts. Meantime, we speak of the nervous current, the neural 
disturbance or excitement, in a purely metaphorical way, to 
cover the facts which we do know, i. e., that physiological 
activity of a certain kind occurs in the nervous structures, 
and Is transmitted very rapidly from one point to another. In 
man the rate of this transmission is about 100 feet per second. 
Various Forms of Nervous System. — When we turn to the 
zoologist and the comparative anatomist, we are able to obtain 
certain interesting facts about the development of the ner- 
vous system throughout the organic kingdom. From such 
sources we learn that the simplest t3rpes of animal organism, 
e. g., such protozoans as the amoeba, possess no nervous system 
at all. Every part of the surface of the unicellular amoeba 
(figure 5) is capable of movement, of assimilating food and 

excreting the waste pro- 
ducts. This animal's be- 
haviour suggests that other 
forms of tissue besides ner- 
vous tissue are sensitive 
and capable of conducting 
Fi^S. Diagram of an impulses. Undoubtedly this 

amoeba. The irregularly IS a fact, and we must 

shaped _ mass of proto- • accordingly think of the 

plasm IS shown with N, . 

its nucleus, and CV, a nerves as Simply special- 

contractile vacuole, which jged forms of protoplasm 

expands and contracts. . '- ^ 

m which these functions 
are more highly developed than elsewhere. In certain of 
the lower metazoans nerve cells appear with fibres extend- 
ing toward the periphery of the body and possessing sensitive 





24 PSYCHOLOGY 

terminations. Among the coelenterates a very simple nervous 
system comes to light. In hydroids this is merely a kind of 
tissue of nerve cells. In echinoderms we meet with a struc- 
ture like that shown in figure 6. But it is not till we reach 

such forms as the worms 
that we find a definite 
organised centre of con- 
trol, like the brain or 
spinal cord. In the an- 
nulates of the worm 
forms there is not only a 
centre corresponding to 
a very rudimentary brain, 
but also one roughly cor- 
responding to the spinal 
cord. (Figures 7 and 8.) 

Fig. 6. Nervous system of a star- ^^ ^^^ molluscs the de- 
fish; a, central nerve ring that velopment is made more 

surrounds the mouth; b, periph- complex by the appear- 

era! nerves of the arms. (After r J rr 

Loeb.) ance of these groups of 

central cells clustered together in several directions about 
the brain. (Figure 9.) Even in the lowest forms of 
vertebrates, e. g., the acranial amphioxus, we find both a brain 
and cord. Passing from the lowest to the highest verte- 
brates up, for example, through the fishes, amphibians, and 
reptiles to the birds and mammals, we meet with every shade 
of variation in the development of the several parts of the 
nervous system. Everywhere, however, from the most primi- 
tive metazoan up to man, the general principle is one and 
the same — a mechanism for connecting sensitive receptive 
organs with muscles and glands.* 

The Development of the Gross Structures of the Human 

*Readers who wish simply a general impression of brain organi- 
zation and action, as related to consciousness, rather than a more 
detailed knowledge, will do well to omit from this point to the 
paragraph on page 39 dealing with the cerebrum. 



THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 



25 



Ok 



-, 0. 



r^^,^xi_z__ni 



System. — If we were to examine the human nervous system 
at one period of its embryonic development, we should find it 
a crude structure of tubular form, with one end enlarged, 
and slightly constricted at two zones, as shown in figures 
10, A, B, C. In certain 
regions the walls of this en- 
larged portion thicken and 
spread out as they grow, 
whereas in several places 
they dwindle away to a mere 
membrane. In this manner 
the various parts of the 
adult brain are formed, re- 
taining to the end the old 
tubular contours. The rem- 
nant of the cavities in the 
embryonic brain and cord 
become respectively the ven- 
tricles of the developed brain 
and the canal of the spinal 
cord. (Figures 11 A and 
B.) These cavities remain 
connected with one another 
and are filled with the cere- 
brospinal fluid. The sur- 
faces of the brain and cord 
are closely invested with a 
membrane, the pia mater, 

carrying blood-vessels. This ^'*^- ^- '^}''\ brain and a series of 

'' ^ . segmental ganglia of an annelid 

membrane is bathed on its (Nereis) : o, supraoesophageal 

outer surfaces by fluids. A ganglion, or brain ; c, commis- 

^ sure; u, suboesophageal gang- 

tough, thick membrane, the lion. (Loeb after Clapargde.) 

dura mater, separates the pia mater from the bones of the 
skull and vertebrae. (Figures 12 and 13 show the external 
appearance of the nervous system.) 




26 



PSYCHOLOGY 



S. 



G. r- 




o. 



The portion of the embryonic brain known as the fore- 
brain finally develops into the great masses of the cere- 
brum. [See in explanation of this paragraph figures lOB 
and C, 11 A and B, 13, 13, and 14.] The optic thalami, 

which are large collections of 
nerve cells with their fibrous 
connections, also belonged 
originally to this general 
region of the brain. The 
primitive mid-brain changes 
less in mass during growth 
than does the fore-brain, and 
becomes on its under or ven- 
tral surface the crura or 
peduncles of the brain, while 
on its upper or dorsal surface 
it becomes the corpora quad- 

_, „ ^ , . ^ , , rigemina. The hind-brain de- 

±IG. 8. Dorsal view of central ner- " 

Yous system of an earthworm; Velops m its foremost part, 

0, supracesophageal ganglion; c, dorsally into the cerebellum, 
commissure; u, subcesophageal -, , n ■ 

ganglion; ;Sf, pharynx; G, gan- and ventrally mto the pons, 

glia of the ventral cord. Jq its lower portions it be- 
( After Loeb.) /n n x 

comes the medulla oblongata, 

upon the dorsal surface of which appears the fourth ventricle, 
with its non-nervous membranous covering. The spinal cord 
undergoes the least profound change, as regards its external 
contours, of any of the embryonic parts of the central system. 
When we take the facts of development into account, there- 
fore, it becomes evident that the various portions of the 
brain, which seem at first glance so hopelessly confused in 
their relations to one another, are nevertheless all derived 
from a single relatively simple structure — the tubular em- 
bryonic nervous system. This is modified by certain flexures 
and inequalities of growth, but its walls are everywhere made 
up of neurones and their supporting tissues, the neuroglia. 



THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 



27 



The general form of the brain is complete some time before 
birth. 

The number of neurones, the nervous element, is also com- 
plete at birth, though by far the larger portion is not mature 
or functionally active at this time. ' But the approximate 
maturity of the brain in point of size and weight is not 
reached until about seven 
years of age, and develop- 
ment in the interconnec- 
tions of the neurones goes 
on indefinitely, certainly 
with most persons up to 
forty years of age. Eecent 
investigations indicate that 
the weight of the brain 
diminishes after the twen- 
tieth year. 

A Functional Grouping 
of Neurones. — The neu- 
rones of the central sys-^^^^g^ Brain of a mollusc (Sepia); 
tem may be grouped Gg, cerebral ganglion ; Spg, sup- 
according to certain of ^acesophageal ganglion; B^r buccal 
° ganglion; Tg, ganglia 01 the ten- 

their functions in three tacles. (Loeb after Glaus.) 

great divisions : ( 1 ) sensory neurones which bring nervous 
impulses in from the sense organs (Fig. 15A), (2) motor 
neurones which terminate in muscles and carry to them im- 
pulses from the nervous centres (Fig. 15B), and (3) central 
neurones which in various ways join together the members 
of the first two groups (Fig. 2, D to F). As we remarked 
earlier in the chapter, the nervous system seems to manifest 
its essential value as a device whereby appropriate move- 
ments are made in response to sensory stimulations. These 
three great neurone divisions represent therefore the funda- 
mental elements in such a device, i. e., mechanisms for trans- 
mitting stimuli inward, for transmitting them outward again 




28 PSYCHOLOGY 

and for combining the several sensory varieties of stimu- 
lation with the most varied kinds of muscular response. 





Th. 




B 

Fig. 10. A, B, C Diagrams illustrating embryological clianges in the 
brain, Av, anterior vesicle, or fore-brain ; M-b, middle vesicle or 
mid-brain; Pv, posterior vesicle, or hind-brain; H, cerebral hemi- 
spheres; Th, thalamus; Cb, cerebellum; Mo, medulla oblongata. 
(James after Huguenin.) 

The sensory neurones leading from the different sense 
organs, i. e., in the eye, ear, nose, tongue, skin, muscles, 
tendons and other deep-lying tissues, put the organism in 
contact vs^ith the most diverse forms of motion in the physical 
world, e. g., light, sound, temperature, etc.* It is as though 
the organism were supplied with so many telephones sensitive 
to each of these forms of physical communication. We shall 
describe the sense organs in the chapter on sensation. Among 
the vast numbers of central neurones we shall find those of 
the cerebral cortex most significant for mental life. It is 
with these that the fate of our conscious processes seems most 
intimately hound up. The action of the central neurones 
becomes finally effective through the discharge of their ner- 
vous energy into the motor neurones. Such discharges 

*It v^ill of course be understood that the immediate sensory stimu- 
lus to the nerves of the muscles, tendons and joints is ordinarily 
muscular movement. The subject is further discussed, together with 
certain other intra-organic sense processes, in the chapter on sen- 
sation. 



THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 29 

occasion our muscular movements and lead to the various 
acts which constitute our conduct — the things we say and the 
things we do. 

Ail Anatomical Grouping of Neurones.— Following Eb- 
binghaus and others we may also classify the neurones of the 
central nervous system on an anatomical basis in three gen- 
eral groups, (1) the peripheral neurones, (2) the subcortical 
neurones, and (3) the cortical neurones. This classification 
is based on the location of the cell-bodies of the neurones and 
it must not be understood as invalidating the first classi- 




S. Ca. 




B. 



Fig. 11. A.B. Diagrams to illustrate the position of the ventricles 
and the spinal canal with the connecting channels. The figure 
at the left represents the ventricles as seen from the right side 
projected against the outline of the brain. The figure at the 
right represents diagrammatically a cross section through the 
ventricles as seen from in front projected against the outer con- 
tours of the brain. Cer., the cerebrum ; LV, the lateral ven- 
tricles; ///, the third ventricle; Aq.8., the aqueduct of Sylvius 
joining the third and fourth ventricles; IV, the fourth ven- 
tricle; Cb., the cerebellum; S.Ca., the spinal canal. 

fication. The two groupings are supplementary to one 
another. The first method of division gives us a rough 
working impression of how certain of the nearones differ 
in the service they render, without much regard to their 
relative positions. The present classification affords a much 



30 



PSYCHOLOGY 



Cer 





Figs. 12 and 13. Figure 12 at the left shows the general relations 
of the central nervous system to the bones of the skull and 



THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 3 1 

more detailed and accurate impression of their topographical 
relations to each other. Apparently no single classification 
will serve eqnally well to bring out the two kinds of 
relations.* 

Peripheral Neurones. — The peripheral neurones of this 
classification are substantially identical with the sensory 
neurones of the previous classification. Their cell-hodies lie 
outside the central system, i. e., outside the spinal cord and 
brain, and are sometimes situated near the central structures, 
as in the case of the cells in the ganglia of the posterior 
roots of the spinal cord. These cells of the spinal cord 
ganglia distribute their sensory fibres to the skin, muscles, 
tendons, etc. Sometimes, however, the cell-bodies of the 
peripheral neurones are in the neighborhood of the sense 

*0n the basis of recent investigations a division of the nervous 
system is proposed which promises to be very useful. The entire 
system, both central and sympathetic, is thought of as composed 
of four columns in each half of the body, eight altogether. ( 1 ) A 
sensory somatic, (2) a motor somatic, (3) a sensory visceral, and 
(4) a motor visceral. The first and second group would include 
all sensory and motor processes affecting the adjustment of the 
organism directly to the environment. The third and fourth divis- 
ions would include all processes concerned in the nutritional activi- 
ties. 

spine. Figure 13, at the right, displays the general contours 
of the central system as seen from in front. The great gan- 
glionated cord of the sympathetic system is shown attached to 
one side of the spinal nerves; the other side has been cut away. 
Cer., the cerebral hemispheres; 0, the olfactory centres; P, the 
pons Varolii; M, the medulla oblongata; Cb., the cerebellum; 
Sp.C, the spinal cord; /, the olfactory nerve; II, the optic 
nerve; ///, the oculo-motor nerve; IV, the trochlear nerve; V, 
the trigeminus nerve ; VI, abducens nerve ; VII, the facial nerve ; 
VIII, the auditory nerve; IX, glosso-pharyngeal nerve: X, the 
vagus nerve; XI, spinal accessory; XII, the hypoglossal nerve; 
C, the first cervical spinal nerve; Dj, the first dorsal, or thor- 
acic, nerve; L^, the first lumbar nerve; 8^, the first sacral nerve; 
Zi, filum terminale; CS^, superior cervical ganglion of the sym- 
pathetic; CS\ middle cervical ganglion of the sympathetic; 
O/Sf*, and DS^, junction of the inferior cervical and the first dor- 
sal, or thoracic, ganglion of the sympathetic; DS", the eleventh 
dorsal, or thoracic ganglion, pf the sympathetic; L8^, the first 
lumbar ganglion of the same system; 88\ the first sacral 
ganglion also of the sympathetic. 



S2 



PSYCHOLOGY 




Fig. 14. Cer., the cerebral hemispheres ; fif.B., striate body of the left 
half of the brain; T., left half of the thalami; C.Q., corpora 
quadrigemina ; 3F, third ventricle; Aq.S., aqueduct of Sylvius; 
Cb., cerebellum; C, the crura, or pillars of the brain; P., the 
pons Varolii; 4F., the fourth ventricle; M., the medulla oblon- 
gata; S.Ca., the spinal canal; Sp.C, the spinal cord. The 
drawing is purely diagrammatic and should be interpreted in 
connection with figures 10, B and C, and 11, A and B. 



organ, as in the case of the auditory nerve, which arises 
from a cell in the internal ear; the optic nerve, which has 
its cell-body in the retina, etc. (See cuts in Chapter Y.) 
The function of the peripheral neurones is evidently that of 
transmitting impulses from the sense-organs into the nervous 
centres, and we need discuss them no further at this point. 

Subcortical Neurones. — The subcortical group involves all 
the gross structures in the central system save the cortices 
of the cerebrum and the cerebellum on the one hand and the 
peripheral (sensory) neurones on the other. Their function is 
in general that of furnishing neural mechanisms for the 
innervation of muscles and for connecting with one another 
the various parts of the central system below the cortices. 
This can be best brought out by examining separately some 
of the more conspicuous gross structures of this group. After 



THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 



33 



doing this, we shall discuss the cortical groups, and their 
functions as general control centres. It will be appreciated 
at once that the subcortical neurones include both the motor 
neurones and the central neurones of the previous classifica- 
tion, except of course those of the cerebral and cerebellar 
cortices. 

The Spinal Cord.^We may first consider the spinal cord 
(figure 13). If we take a cross section of this organ, cutting 
through at right angles to its 
long axis, we find a structure ^^ 

Fig. 15. A, a peripheral sensory 
nerve originating in the gan- 
glion of the posterior fibre bun- 
dle of the spinal cord. N. E., 
free nerve ending in the skin; 
P. S. N., peripheral medul- 
lated nerve trunk; 8. G., spinal 
ganglion; A. B., ascending 
branch of the axone; D. B., 
descending branch of the same, 
both branches being inside the 
spinal cord proper; C. C, col- 
laterals from the axone. B, 
motor neurone of the ventral 
horn of the spinal cord send- 
ing a fibre dovpn to a muscle. 
D., dendritic processes; Ax., ax- 
one which takes on its medul- 
lary sheath as it passes out 
from the central nervous struc- 
ture of the cord; C, a col- 
lateral; P. M. N., the main 
body of the peripheral motor 
nerve; M., the muscle plate 
ending of the nerve on the 
muscle fibres. Arrows indicate 
in both A and B the direction 
in which impulses pass. (Modi- 
fied from Toldt.) 

such as is shown in figures 16 and 17. In the central por- 
tion, grouped about the spinal canal in the general shape of 
the letter H, is an area which appears a pink grey in the 
fresh state and which contains the cell-bodies of the neurones. 




34 



PSYCHOLOGY 




Fig. 16. Portion of cervical region of spinal cord. A, cord seen 
from anterior or ventral surface. B, cord seen from tlie lateral 
surface. 1, ventral median fissure; 2, dorsal sulcus; 5, ventral 
fibres leaving the cord; Q, dorsal fibres entering the cord; 7, 
spinal nerve after the union of the dorsal and ventral bundles 
of fibres; 7% fibres to and from the sympathetic system. (After 
Barker and Rauber.) 

Outside of this is a thick layer of white nerve fibres. Close 
examination of the grey matter reveals fibres running out 
laterally to penetrate the white masses. A large number of 
the fibres from the cell-bodies in the ventral or anterior 
region of the grey mass pass out from the spinal cord in 
bundles, finding exit between the several spinal vertebrae 
(figure 12). Thence they may be traced principally to the 
voluntary muscles of the limbs and trunk. These are the mo- 
tor neurones of the functional classification. The fibres enter- 
ing the dorsal or posterior region of the grey matter arise 
in the cells of the spinal ganglia and pass in similar bundles 
to the posterior side of the cord; while corresponding fibres 
on the distal side of the ganglia, after uniting with the 



THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 
D P 



35 




Fig. 17. Diagrammatic cross-section of the spinal cord. W W, 
white fibrous matter; G G, grey cellular matter; A, afferent 
sensory fibres passing through S.G., the spinal ganglion, into 
the posterior horn of the grey matter; E, efferent motor 
fibres, most of which lead to muscles like M, many of which 
connect with the sympathetic ganglia, like 8y.; C, central cell 
probably traversed as a rule by impulses passing from A to E. 
D.P., dorsal, or posterior, surface of the cord; Y.A., ventral, or 
anterior, surface. 

bundles from the motor region, are distributed chiefly to the 
sense organs of the skin, joints, muscles, tendons, etc. It 
may be remarked at this point that the voluntary muscles, 
such as control the movements of the hand, are commonly 
striped muscles, whereas the involuntary muscles, e. y., those 
of the alimentary and circulatory systems, are generally 
unstriped. The unstriped muscles are mainly connected with 
the autonomic nervous system, of which we shall speak briefly 
a little later. The striped muscles contract and relax raore 
rapidly than the unstriped. 

Functions of the Spinal Cord. — The arrangement of the 
elements in the spinal cord suggests at once two of its prin- 
cipal functions, and is so typical of the facts generally char- 
acterising nervous structure and function that it seems 
judicious to comment upon it briefly. It will be observed in 
the first place that in the cord sensory and motor neurones, 
connected through their fibres with the sense organs and 
the muscles respectively, are in very close proximity to one 
another. It should be relatively easy, therefore, for an in- 
coming sensory impulse to find its way out over motor nerves 



36 



PSYCHOLOGY 

Anterior root 



Central motor pathway 
Motor ganglion cell 




Posterior root 



— ^ Ascending and 
■^ descending branch of 
sensory fibre 



Motor nerve 

ending in 

muscle 



!-hil '' Se^^o^y collateral 

_j^ Cell and fibre of 
lateral column 



" Bipolar cell of spinal ganglion 

Fig. 18. Schematic representation of sensory and motor pcitliway^ 
in the cord. (After Toldt.) 

and so to produce reflex movements, that is, movements made 
in immediate response to sensory stimulations, without pass- 
ing to the brain and involving the guiding action of the 
cerebral cortex. This is precisely what happens, and it is as a 
reflex mechanism that the spinal cord exercises the first of 
its important functions. As instances of such reflexes we 
may mention the twitching of the toes and the jerking of 
the foot when the sole is tickled. The n-umber of these 
reflexes is large. Furthermore, we should find upon examina- 
tion that the white fibrous tracts along the external surfaces 
of the cord connect it with both the higher and the lower 
parts of the system. (Figure 18.) It should thus be easy 
for impulses to pass upward and downward, between the 
brain on the one hand and the sense organs and muscles on 
the other. Such ready transmission actually occurs, and it 
is in this fact that we find the second great function of this 



THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 37 

organ. The spinal cord is accordingly typical of the central 
structures in general, in that it provides (1) means for the 
immediate connection of sense organs and muscles and (2) 
devices for connecting various parts of its own and other 
nervous structures with one another. 

Functions of Other Suhcortical Groups of Neurones. — 
If we were to examine the other subcortical masses lying 
between the cerebral hemispheres and the spinal cord, we 
should find that, in general, they consist of aggregations of 
neurones much like those in the cord, but on the whole less 
simply and regularly disposed. Thus, the medulla, the cor- 
pora quadrigemina, and the thalami all display cell or neu- 
rone groups with sensory and motor connections. When we 
come to speak of their specific functions, we are obliged 
to indulge largely in speculation, because the facts are evi- 
dently extremely complex, and our knowledge of the details 
involved is notoriously incomplete. Moreover, the specialised 
functions which are sometimes attributed to them in the case 
of the lower animals are probably in the human being largely 
usurped by the cerebral cortex. In any event we must always 
remember that the nervous system is an organic unit, and no 
part of it ever acts wholly independently of the other parts, 
nor is any influence exercised upon one part entirely without 
significance for the other parts. Any mention of specific 
functions of dilferent regions must always be made with this 
reservation in mind. Thus, the spinal cord undoubtedly 
contains the neurones whose innervation is immediately re- 
sponsible for movements of the hand. But the stimulus to 
this innervation itself may originate almost anywhere 
throughout the rest of the nervous system, so that any por- 
tion of this system may in a particular case contribute to the 
production of the special motor consequences. To say that 
a region of the nervous system presides over any special func- 
tion is, therefore, simply to say that it is the portion most 
immediately and most invariably responsible for it. 



38 PSYCHOLOGY 

Speaking within such limitations, we may say that there 
are two functions of centres lying in the medullic region, 
about which considerable unanimity of opinion exists. The 
automatic respiratory movements, and certain activities of 
the vaso-motor nerves (especially of the constrictors) which 
govern the calibre of the arteries, are controlled by neurones 
located in this neighborhood. These neurones discharge their 
impulses, however, in part through neurones in the spinal 
cord. Needless to say, all these regions are like the spinal 
cord in containing pathways for neural excitation to pass 
upward and downward, with the sense organs and the muscles 
as terminal points, between which the higher and the lower 
centres serve as intermediary connectors. 

Although the olfactory nerve is given off from the forward 
ventral region of the cerebrum, the remaining cerebral nerves 
issue from certain of the subcortical centres, e. g., the me- 
dulla, pons, thalami, etc. The cell-bodies from which these 
nerves originate are variously distributed in locations some- 
times at a considerable distance from the point where the 
nerve trunk penetrates the surface of the brain. This state- 
ment applies to the nerves of special sense like the auditory, 
the optic and the gustatory, together with such motor nerves 
as those controlling the eyes, the tongue, the lips, etc. Figure 
13 shows the topographical relations. 

Segmental Character of the Central Nervous System. — 
It is commonly maintained that the structural pattern from 
which the human nervous system has been developed is of 
a segmental character, each part of it receiving sensory 
and motor nerves from relatively distinct regions, or seg- 
ments, over which they exercise a definite and sometimes 
exclusive control. Thus sensory nerves from the foot enter 
the same region of the spinal cord from which issue the 
motor nerves controlling the movements of the foot. Another 
region sustains similar relations to the trunk, another to the 
arms and so on. In the human being the motor nerves can, 



THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 39 

indeed, be classified without serious ambiguity in this seg- 
mental way in accordance with the special muscles which they 
innervate, e. g., those of the head, the upper trunk, the lower 
trunk, etc. But the complex central inter-connections of 
the sensory neurones in man — if we have in mind the way 
in which they operate and not simply their anatomical rela- 
tions — make any such segmental divisions of them very 
hazardous, so that the application of the segmental idea to the 
interpretation of our human nervous action is somewhat un- 
certain. 

The Cortical Neurones. — The Cerebellum. — So little is 
confidently known about the operations of the cortex of the 
cerebellum, that it will not be profitable to discuss it at 
length. Suffice it to say that by means of neurones which 
lead into it, as well as neurones which lead out, the cerebellum 
has a very rich connection with the cerebrum, the lower 
brain centres, and the sf)inal cord. The sensory connections 
with the latter organ are especially marked. It seems to be 
generally agreed that its functions are most intimately re- 
lated to the reception and coordination of the sensory stimu- 
lations which originate within the body itself, e. g., in the 
muscles, the viscera, the semicircular canals of the ear, etc. 
It is thus conspicuously involved in such actions as those by 
which we preserve our equilibrium and in general succeed 
in carrying forward well coordinated and balanced move- 
ments, like walking, sitting and standing. But just how it 
plays its part is not known. Certain authorities regard the 
evidence as warranting the assertion that the cerebellum is 
the chief locality for the reception of stimuli from the body 
itself, in contrast with the cerebrum which, they urge, re- 
ceives primarily stimuli from outside, and especially stimuli 
acting at a distance from the body, such as light and sound. 

The Cerebrum. — -For the psychologist the cerebral hemi- 
spheres are the most interesting and most important portions 
of the nervous system. Prom the various lines of evidence 



40 PSYCHOLOGY 

mentioned earlier in the chapter, we know that consciousness 
is connected with this part of the brain in an exceedingly 
intimate way, and we shall consequently devote some little 

Figs. 19 and 20. Figure 19 shows the lateral surfaces of the 
right hemisphere of the cerebrum. Figure 20 shows the inner 
mesial surface of the left hemisphere. The section is made 
through the corpus callosum and the right hemisphere has been 
removed. The surfaces covered with colored dots are the so- 
called motor regions from which originate neurones in control 
of voluntary muscles. It is now generally held that this set 
of motor neurones is confined to the region in front of the 
fissure of Rolando, instead of being distributed on both sides 
of it, as was until recently regarded as the fact. Certain 
authorities are still disposed to maintain the older view. The 
sensory areas, which represent the receiving stations for sen- 
sory impulses from the periphery, are indicated by black 
dots. The regions most heavily dotted, in the case of both 
sensory and motor regions, are those most indispensable for the 
given function. The areas less heavily dotted are those which 
are either less uniformly employed in the exercise of the 
function, or whose derangement affects the secondary or more 
complex use of the function. For example, visual images and 
ideas may be disturbed by injuries which do not seriously 
impair crude sensations of sight. The areas free from dots 
are the association regions, which Flechsig has divided into a 
number of subordinate districts, but which we indicate without 
attempt to divide finely. 

R, the fissure of Rolando; M, motor regions; B, sensory regipu? 
for bodily sense impressions, e. g., touch, temperature, kinaesthetic. 
This region is often called the somsesthetic area. This region 
is now generally confined to the area posterior to the Rolandic 
fissure, but it is still held by certain authorities, as was 
formerly the common view, that the region extends in front 
of Rolando as well as behind it. V, visual centre; H, auditory 
centre; O, the olfactory centre, wliich extends in a great 
loop up over the corpus callosum. The extent of the area is 
at present quite uncertain and the drawing simply suggests 
the facts at present generally recognized. The confinement of 
motor and bodily areas to the region above the limbic lobe over 
the corpus callosum is also tentative, although asserted by 
competent investigators. O.B., the olfactory bulb; O.T., the 
olfactory tract; O.T.A., occipito-temporal association area; A.P., 
parietal association area, continuous with the occipito-temporal 
association area just mentioned; A.F., frontal association area; 
/., the island of Reil, another association area, to show which 
the cortical surfaces just above the fissure of Sylvius have 
been lifted up; C.C., corpus callosum. 
(Modified after Flechsig.) 



^ F_^^ -_-... 




OTA 



Fig. 19 



-,M^-AF 




OTA 



Fig. 20 



THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 41 

How far the lower brain centres 



space to its consideration. 
in human beings 
may have directly 
to do with men- 
tal processes it is 
very difficult 1 
say. 

The surface of 
the hemispheres, 
called the cortex, 
and shown in fig- 
ures 12, 13 and 19 
to 21, is made up of 
layers of cell-bodies, 
with their delicate 
processes. Eoughly 
speaking the adult 
human cortex aver- 
ages about three 
millimetres in thick- 
ness. The extra- 
ordinary richness of 
the dendritic devel- 
opment in the cor- 
tical neurones fur- 
nishes one of the 




Fig. 21. Diagram showing cerebral hemi- 
spheres as seen from above. LF, longi- 
tudinal fissure separating the hemi- 
spheres; RR, fissure of Rolando. W, 
visual regions of the occipital lobes; AP, 
parietal association centres; AF, frontal 
association centres; MM, motor centres; 
BB, centres for bodily senses of touch, 
temperature, etc. 



most marked pecu- 
liarities of the human cerebrum, as contrasted with those 
of animals. This intricate dendritic structure appar- 
ently represents the bodily counterpart of those elaborate 
interrelations among ideational processes, which charac- 
terise in general the higher forms of intelligence. (Figure 
22.) 

Cortical Sensory Centres. — Certain of the cortical areas 
are known to be in functional connection with sense organs 



42 



PSYCHOLOGY 



from which they receive stimuli. Thus, the region m.arked 
H is in connection witli tlie ear, and receives auditory im- 
pressions. (Compare figures 19 and 21.) Tlie region marked 

V is similarly connected 
with the retina, and re- 
ceives visual impressions. 
It is reasonably certain 
that the areas marked 
(figures 13 and 20) re- 
ceive olfactory stimuli, 
while the region marked 
B is probably that imme- 
diately concerned with the 
reception of tactual, ther- 
mal, kinsesthetic and or- 
g a n i c stimuli. The 
centres for taste are not 
clearly determined. It 

Fig. 22. Diagrammatic sec- 
tion of tile cerebral cortex 
taken at right angles to the 
surface. The right side of 
the drawing illustrates the 
fibre system alone, the left 
side illustrates primarily 
the cellular layers. The 
structure is so complex 
that it is difficult to dis- 
play both sets of facts in a 
single sketch. 1, molecular 
layer next the surface of 
the brain; 2 and 3, layers 
of pyramidal cells; 4, layer 
of polymorphous cells. 
8. F., fibre of a sensory 
neurone entering to ter- 
minate in the outer molec- 
ular layer. (Modified from 
Morat.) 

seems probable, however, that they are in the neighborhood 
of the olfactory terminals. There is reason to believe that 




THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 
L T. r. R.N. F 



43 




L.O.^ 



LOO 



Fig. 23. Scheme of the meclianisin of vision. (James after Seguin.) 
The cuneus convolution {Gu) of the right occipital lobe is sup- 
posed to be injured, and all the parts which lead to it are 
darkly shaded to show that they fail to exert their function. 
F.O. are the intra-hemispheric optical fibres. P.O.C. is the 
region of the lower optic centres (corpora geniculata and quad- 
rigemina). T.O.D. is the right optic tract; C, the chiasma; 
F.L.D. are the fibres going to the lateral or temporal half T. of 
the right retina, and F.G.8. are those going to the central or 
nasal half of the left retina. O.D. is the right, and 0.8. the 
left, eyeball. The rightward half of each is therefore blind; in 
other words, the right nasal field, R.N.F., and the left temporal 
field, L.T.F., have become invisible to the subject with the lesion 
- at Cu. 



44 



PSYCHOLOGY 




Fig. 24. Schematic transverse section of the human brain througTi 
the Rolandic region to show the crossing of motor fibres in the 
neighbourhood of the medulla. 8., fissure of Sylvius ; CO., corpus 
callosum; N. C, nucleus caudatus, and N.L., nucleus lenticu- 
laris of the corpus striatum; O.T., thalamus; C, crus; P., the 
pons; M, medulla oblongata; VII., the facial nerves passing out 
from their nucleus in the region of the pons. The fibres passing 
between O.T. and N.L. constitute the so-called internal capsule. 

ordinarily the peripheral sensory neurones are in connection 
mainly with the side of the cortex opposite to that, from which 
they originate. For example, the touch nerves of the left 
hand find their cortical terminations in the right side of the 
hemispheres. The optic nerve, however, affords a curious 
modification of this plan. The neurones from the right side 
of each retina are connected with the right side of the brain, 
those from the left side, with the left hemisphere. (See figure 
23.) In this particular, as in some others, the optic tiact is 



THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 45 

peculiar. The retina itself differs from all the other sense 
organs in being a part of the brain, which has in the course 
of development been dislocated from its original position. 

Cortical Motor Centres. — Another great group of these 
cortical cells in tlie region marked M, generally known as the 
region of Rolando, from its proximity to the fissure of that 
name, is well recognised as being in connection with voluntary 
muscles, which are controlled from this centre. The volun- 
tary muscles of each half of the body appear as a rule to be 
controlled mainly by cells situated in the opposite side of the 
brain. (See figure 24.) 

In addition to the Rolandic zone there are small motor 
areas in other regions of the cortex, notably one for eye move- 
ments in the occipital region, and no doubt one in the audi- 
tory region for the control of the ear movements which in 
man have so far lost usefulness as to have passed almost 
wholly out of voluntary guidance. In general each area of 
termination for sensory neurones is in close proximity to a 
region whence issue motor neurones controlling the muscles 
that move the part in which the corresponding sense organ 
is found. This arrangement has been described in the spinal 
cord. The Eolandic region enjoys its peculiar prestige 
largely because it governs almost all the important movements 
of the body, which are executed by muscles controlling regions 
for which the skin furnishes the sense organs. These senses 
are represented in the region adjoining the posterior edge of 
the Eolandic fissure. The arms, hands, body, legs and face 
all come under this caption and the Eolandic zone is accord- 
ingly that from which their movements are controlled. This 
representation of the skin senses at the Eolandic surfaces 
may account also for the representation there of motor control 
over areas already represented elsewhere. For example : the 
eye is not only a retina but also an organ with tactual senses 
and its cortical motor control is apparently divided between 
the , occipital region where the retina is represented and the 



46 PSYCHOLOGY 

Eolandic region where the tactual sensory tracts find their 
cortical termini. 

Cortical Association Centres. — In view of such facts as 
we have just been rehearsing, the cerebral cortex has been 
described as a projection system, representing every sensitive 
point and every voluntary muscle in the body. There are, 
however, other large areas in the cortex which are not in 
immediate control of muscles, nor do they represent the 
emergence point for neurones in connection with the sense 
organs.* These centres marked A are called by Flechsig, 
who has studied them most carefully, association centres. 
The location of one of these centres, known as the island of 
Eeil, lying beneath the fissure of Sylvius, although not shown 
well by our cuts, is indicated in figure 19. Their busi- 




FiG. 25. Fibres associating the cortical centres with one another. 
(Schematic, James after Starr.) 

ness seems to be that of uniting the several sensory 
regions, sucL as H and V, with one another and with the 

*Certain authorities question this assertion, especially the lat* 
ter portion of it. 



THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 



47 



motor region. (Compare figures 19 to 21 and 25.) It appears 
to be true in a general way that these association centres are 
relatively larger and more 
highly developed in those 
animals possessing most 
intelligence. There is an- 
other extremely important 
connecting mechanism, 
made up of cortical neu- 
rones the fibres of which 
form the corpus callosum 
(figures 24 and 25), by 
means of which the two 
sides of the hemispheres 
are brought into connection 
with one another. The 
hemispheres are also united 
by other less important 
bands of fibres, of which we 
shall not speak. These 
various devices make it pos- 
sible for a cortical nervous 
impulse originating in the 
stimulation of some sense 
organ, like the ear, to pass 
into other cortical regions, 
like that belonging to vision, 
and thence out through the Eolandic zone to some muscle, 
producing, perhaps, a voluntary movement. This is probably 
what would occur, for example, were we to hear the wordS' 
■^^Draw a horse,'' then to think how a horse looks, and then 
finally to make the appropriate movements of our hands. 
Both hemispheres would be involved in such activities. These 
relations and others similar to them are suggested by figure 
26,, which is, however, merely diagrammatic. 




Fig. 26. A is the auditory cen- 
tre, V the visual, W the writ- 
ing, and E that for speech. 
(After James.) 



48 PSYCHOLOGY 

The Cerebral Cortex and Mental Processes: A. Memory 
and Sensation. — When we contrast the cerebral cortex with 
the other parts of the nervous . system, with reference to its 
significance for consciousness, we find that it is in the memory 
processes that the most conspicuous differences first come 
to light. If one suffers the destruction of the retinse by' acci- 
dent or disease, or if the pathways be interrupted anywhere 
between the retinse and the cortex, one becomes blind, but 
that may be all. When, however, as occasionally happens, 
one loses the use of the occipital regions, one may not only 
become blind, but one's visual memory also is lost. It is not 
possible to remember how familiar objects look. In slight 
injuries to the occipital region, as well as in minor injuries 
to the parietal association areas, objects may be seen without 
being recognised. So-called word-blindness, or visual aphasia, 
is caused in this way, the patient being unable to recognise 
or understand written words. If the injury is confined to 
one side of the brain the common result is hemianopsia in 
more or less serious form, i. e., blindness to one-half of the 
field of view, owing to the destruction of the cortical centres 
receiving the fibres from the corresponding halves of each 
retina. It is said that the hemianopsia does not ordinarily 
affect the fovea, i. e., the central point of clearest vision in 
each retina. Similarly, when the auditory region is injured, 
one loses the memory of auditory experiences. If in this case, 
as frequently happens, the disorder be confined to one side 
of the brain, and this be the side most highly developed (the 
left side in right-handed people), one cannot understand 
what is heard. This disease is known as auditory aphasia. 
The patient is not deaf, for the less developed and uninjured 
half of the cortex may serve for the production of vague 
auditory consciousness, but the associations which words and 
familiar sounds ordinarily evoke are wholly gone, because 
these were possessions of the now diseased side. The mental 
condition is not nalike that of a person hearing an unknown 



THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL OkviAlNiSM 45 

foreign language. He is not deaf to the words, but they 
mean nothing to him, for they have no associations. Certain 
cases have been reported which suggest that musical memory 
may be so specialised in the auditory sensory-motor com- 
plex upon which it depends, as to be obliterated by cortical 
lesions which leave the general auditory capacity largely 
unaffected. 

B. Motor Control. — A condition closely comparable to 
sensory aphasia is that of motor aphasia, a disease in which 
one cannot articulate coherently. One is not necessarily 
dumb, and there may be no true paralysis of the articulatory 
muscles. But one simply cannot make the enunciatory move- 
ments in their correct order. This disorder is often found 
connected in right-handed persons with diseases of the left 
side of the motor region of the cerebral cortex, which "is in 
control of these muscleSo (Compare figure 24.) But it may 
be brought about — and often is — as a secondary consequence 
of auditory aphasia. If, when we speak, we are in the habit 
of having in our minds just prioi to enunciation the auditory- 
image or thought of how the words are going to sound, any 
difficulty which prevents our securing these auditory images 
will effectually check our utterance. ISTow auditory aphasia 
involves precisely this difficulty in commanding auditory 
images. As most of us do actually employ auditory thoughts 
to innervate our speech muscles, for we learn to speak as 
children by imitating sounds, it is surely not unnatural that 
auditory aphasia should so often be accompanied by motor 
aphasia. Cases are on record of persons who employed visual 
instead of auditory imagery to innervate the speech muscles, 
and who, upon suffering from lesions in the visual regions 
of the brain, were seized with motor aphasia. The sensory- 
motor jarc, or circuit, as we have previously remarked, repre- 
sents the unit of action, finding no exception in the activity 
of the complex cortical centres, and any interruption of it la 
the sensory portion may be as fatal to its proper operation 



50 PSYCHOLOGY 

as a defect in the muscles themselves. This is brought out 
ui the accompanying diagram, figure 27. 

Further Formulation of the Facts Described TJnder A 

and B. — Such facts as these just described indicate to us 
that memory is in a peculiar way dependent upon the in- 
tegrity of the cortex. Visual ideas, tactual ideas, auditory 
ideas, and the like can apparently be recalled only when the 
several parts of the cortex with which these functions are 
connected are intact. In the first instance a visual conscious- 




FlG. 27. 80, a sense organ; SC, a sensory cortical centre; CA, cen- 
tral association centre; MC, a cortical motor centre; AI, a mus- 
cle. If M has become accustomed to contracting in response to 
a stimulus from 80, any interruption of the neural pathway 
joining the two, whether at 1, or 2, or 3, may destroy the 
coordination and render M temporarily ineffective. 

ness involves not only a visual cortex, but also a retina, and 
more or less of the intermediate organs between the two. 
A similar thing is true of the relation of all the other sense 
organs to the various elementary forms of sensory experience, 
such as touch, sound, taste, etc. But once the sensory ex- 
perience has occurred, the cortex instantly takes up the im- 
press and memory becomes possible. Destroy any part of 
the nervous system save this, and conscious memory may 
escape destruction. Destroy any specific sensory region in 
this cerebral cortex, and the corresponding sensory memories 
are obliterated or seriously deranged. Destroy a region in 
the motor zone, and the voluntary control of some muscle, 
or group of muscles, is affected. Destroy or injure the as- 
sociation centres, and the intelligent conjoining of ideas, 
impressions, and movements is likely to be impaired. 



THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 5 1 

The character of the defect seems dependent in a measure 
on the particular association area injured. Injuries to the 
frontal lobes are likely to be marked by disorders of attention, 
concentration and the higher mental and emotional capaci- 
ties. Injuries to the parietal association centres on the other 
hand are likely to be distinguished by disturbances in ability 
to connect ideas and sensations with their proper companions. 
Things seen, heard and touched fail to call up appropriate 
ideas and are accordingly improperly understood and inter- 
preted. Experiments on monkeys seem to show that in those 
animals at least the frontal lobes play an essential part in 
learning new acts. So far as it goes, this fact harmonizes 
with the observations on human beings. 

Owing to the great individual variation in the development 
of the different portions of the central nervous system, the 
gravity and permanency of these psychical disorders brought 
about in the way suggested, i. e., by destruction of certain 
areas, varies very greatly under different conditions, so that 
the statements as made must be understood as attempting to 
convey only the broad general facts. 

When it is remembered that our most important and signifi- 
cant acts of will are based upon hopes and fears and beliefs 
which involve calling upon the memory of our past expe- 
rience, one begins to appreciate how immensely important 
for all our life history this memory function of the cortex 
must be. Thus we choose, for example, one course of action 
rather than another, because we remember that somebody 
will be benefited if we act in this way, or injured if we do 
not. Memory always operates whenever we deliberate, and 
anything which would deprive us of memory would effectually 
destroy the will. The cortex of the cerebral hemispheres 
as the physiological substrate of conscious memory is thus 
the unquestioned peer among the various gross structures in 
the nervous system. 

The Cerebral Cortex and the Lower Centres. — Experiments 



52 PSYCHOLOGY 

on certain of the lower animalS;, for instance frogs, indicate 
that with them there is a rather extreme differentiation of 
function, such that after removal of the higher centres, the 
lower centres (like the medulla, the cerebellum, and the optic 
lobes), enjoy an almost complete control over certain special 
coordinations, one directing the movements made in croak- 
ing, another those of turning over and still another those of 
jumping. These m^ovements are carried out with consider- 
able accuracy in response to appropriate sensory stimulation. 
On this analogy it is sometimes said that the cerebral cortex 
of man acts simply as a general overlord receiving informa- 
tion from the senses and issuing commands to the motor un- 
derlings who then execute them. This metaphor is accurate 
enough, if it be not supposed that in man these lower centres 
are as independent as in the animals. The development of 
man's nervous system has been accompanied by a certain loss 
of autonomy and independence in these lower centres which 
are apparently unable to dispense entirely with the controlling 
influences of cortical action. Crucial evidence on the matter 
is difficult to obtain, because man cannot survive the loss of 
the higher centres. 

Important Features of Cortical Action. — In concluding 
this statement, two things should be emphasised. (1) The 
cortex is nowhere in direct connection with a sense organ, 
but receives all its sensory stimulations through the inter- 
mediation of the peripheral neurones and of some of the 
subcortical groups, like the thalami, the medulla and the 
olfactory bulb. (The olfactory pathways possess certain 
peculiarities which cannot be fully described here.) The 
cortex is similarly in direct connection with no voluntary 
muscles, but communicates with them by means of the sub- 
cortical neurones. The shortest possible pathways which 
could, so far as is now known, be employed in the trans- 
mission of an auditory or visual stimulus to the cortex, and 
back from the cortex to voluntary mugeles, is shown in 



THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 



53 



figure 28. The anatomical arrangements peculiar to these 
illustrative cases may be regarded as typical (save in the 
case of the olfactory tract; see figures 28 and 29) for all 



1 

voc 



Toe 



R()G 



3 

AOC 

TOG 
A. 

Mc)C 



3 

COS 



Toe 



M()C 



COOl 



Boe 






ROMG 



^^ -^^ >k 

bJc cJc s^g ooc 



Ro. I Co. 



H I C 



El S 



soc 



Ml 



Fig. 28. Diagram to illustrate the shortest pathways from sensfi 
organs to cortex, and from cortex to muscles. 

Taking the skin nerves as an example of the sensory pathways we 
find, first, an end-organ in the skin, then a cell in the ganglion 
outside the spinal cord sending a fibre out to the end-organ and 
another into the cord. [This is the sensory neurone of the func- 
tional classification, the peripheral neurone of the anatomical 
classification.] The next neurone has its cell-body in the 
medulla and communicates with one located in the thalamic 
region, which in turn communicates with a cell in the cerebral 
cortex, thus completing the chain from skin to cerebrum. Pass- 
ing downward from the motor centres we find a long fibre ex- 
tending through the so-called pyramidal pathway (of which the 
principal crossed tract is shown in Figure 24) and terminating 
somewhere in the grey matter of the anterior horn of the spinal 
cord, where it communicates with another neurone which sends 
out a fibre to a muscle. [The cell originating in the medullic 
region in the ascending pathway, together with that in the 
thalamic region and the descending motor neurone in the spinal 
cord, belong to the subcortical group of the anatomical classifi- 
cation and, with the exception of the motor neurone, to the 
central neurones of the functional classification. The cortical 
neurones of the anatomical classification also belong to the cen- 
tral group of the other classification.] A similar arrangement 
obtains in the case of certain of the muscles of the head, such as 
the ocular muscles, for example, where, however, the immedi- 
ately controlling neurones issue not from the spinal cord, but 



54 PSYCHOLOGY 

sense organs and voluntary muscles, but the pathways gener- 
ally traversed by nervous impulses are probably much more 
complicated and indirect. 

(2) The cortex seems always to act in an essentially 
unitary way. Consciousness is, then, the counterpart of the 
total mass of shifting tensions going on all over the cortex 
at any given moment. When this tension is greatest in the 
occipital region, we are aware of visual qualities. When the 
temporal convolutions are under greatest strain, conscious- 
ness is auditory, etc. Moreover, in this picture of conscious- 
ness as the counterpart of a unified series of physiological 
tensions all over the cortex, we must not forget that the whole 
nervous system is in a measure involved. These tensions 
are of such a character as to require a constant escapement 
through the motor pathways, with a momentary establish- 
ment of equilibrium as a consequence of such escapement, 
and a fresh disturbance of equilibrium as a secondary con- 
sequence; this latter disturbance being brought about 
through movements actually executed. Such a recurrent 
series of movements and sensations, illustrated by the accom- 
panying diagram, is involved in every coherent, consecutive 
occupation of which we are capable. (Figure 30.) Sleep 

from the brain stem. With this explanation and the legend 
which follows the diagram will be easily understood. 
1, the visual tract; 2, the auditory tract; S, a cutaneous tract; 4> 
an olfactory tract different in character from other sensory 
paths; 5, a motor tract. Ro. and Co., rods and cones; BG, 
bipolar retinal cell; RQ, large retinal ganglion; TC, cell body 
in the thalamic region; VC, cell in the visual cortex of the 
J occipital region. HG, hair cell of the cochlea; GG, ganglion cell 
of the cochlea; MG, cell in the medulla oblongata; TG, as in the 
visual tract; AG, cell in the auditory cortex of the upper tem- 
poral region. E8, end-organ in the skin; SG, cell of the spinal 
ganglion on the posterior root of the cord; MG and TG as be- 
fore; GS, sensory cell in the cortex posterior to the Rolandie 
region. OG, olfactory sensory cell in upper part of nasal cav- 
ity; BG, cell in the olfactory bulb; COl, cell in the olfactory 
cortex of the hippocampal region. RMG, motor cell of the Ro- 
landic region; 8G, motor cell of the ventral horn of the cord, 
Bending down a process to M, a muscle. 



THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 55 

affords practically the only instance of cessation from these 
coordinated series of stimulations and movements. Idea- 
tional processes are often, of course, interpolated between 




Fig. 29. Diagram to 
illustrate certain 
features of the con- 
duction pathways in 
the nervous system. 
8k., a sensory nerve 
terminating in the 
skin; 8.G., cell in 
the spinal ganglion, 
to which the nerve 
fibre belongs, sending 
other fibres inward 
to the spinal cord, 
where the connec- 
tions are made with 
cells above, with 
others below and 
still others at the 
same general level at 
which it enters the 
cord. Cl.C, a cell 
in Clarke's column 
by means of which 
impulses may be 
sent from the skin 
to the cerebellum. 
Med., medulla b - 
longata, where the 
numbers 1 and 2 indicate respectively a cell by means of 
which impulses may be sent to adjoining parts of the brain 
connected with the neurones of the medulla, and a cell by means 
of which the impulses may be directly transmitted to the 
cerebral cortex by way of the thalamus, designated by T. 
The numbers 1 and 2 in the thalamic region indicate, as 
in the case of the medulla, a pathway to adjoining structures 
and a pathway to the cerebral cortex. Elsewhere in the dia- 
gram the number 1 indicates a neurone for branch connections, 
e. g., in the spinal cord one is shown joining a sensory neurone 
to a motor neurone. Cb., the cerebellum, which is shown con- 
nected with the skin and with the motor neurones, as well 
as with the cerebral cortex via the thalamus. Other connec- 
tions of an important character are not represented. Cer., 
the cerebral cortex. CM., cortical motor neurone; M.N., motor 
neurone in the ventral horn of the spinal cord; M., the termi- 
nation of the motor nerve in a muscle. Arrows indicate the 
direction of impulses. (Modified from Starr.) 



56 PSYCHOLOGY 

the sensation and the movement, as is suggested by the 
diagram. 

The Autonomic System. — In addition to the central ner- 
vous system of which we have thus far spoken must be men- 
tioned the autonomic system commonly known as the sympa- 
thetic system;, of which the true sympathetic is a highly 
important part. The autonomic system, about which our 
exact knowledge is lamentably defective, is apparently an out- 
growth of the central system, and the two are intimately con- 
nected, both as regards their structure and their action. In- 
deed, certain of the autonomic neurones originate in the 
central nervous system. The striking peculiarity about the 
autonomic system, is, as its name indicates, its relatively self- 
directing or automatic activity. 




Fig. 30. Diagram to illustrate the progress of a series of coordi- 
nated movements. S, a sense organ being stimulated; SG, the 
cortical centre for this special sense; MG, a motor centre con- 
trolling the muscle, M ; KG, a sensory centre for the kinsesthetic 
sensation produced by the contraction of M . MGi, another motor 
centre innervating M^, which in. turn produces the kinsesthetic 
sensory impulse reported at KGi, etc. ; I, I, ideas or images, whose 
brain processes may be interpolated anywhere throughout such 
series, discharging into the motor centre MG2, thus originating 
a fresh series of movements and kinsesthetic sensations. 

The autonomic system of neurones may be conveniently, 
though roughly, described as made up of four great groups. 
One of these groups consists of a series of ganglia gathered 
into two long strands extending up and down each side of the 



THE PSYCHOPHYSICAL ORGANISM 57 

spinal cord. This contains the sympathetic system in the 
narrower and more precise sense of the term. (See figure 13.) 
The second group consists of the great plexuses of ganglia 
found respectively in the thoracic, abdominal, and pelvic 
cavities. The third group consists of plexuses or isolated gan- 
glia scattered miscellaneously throughout the body, e. g., in 
the heart, in the alimentary tract, in the walls of the arteries, 
in the eye cavity, etc. The fourth group consists of neurones 
originating in the central nervous system but exercising an 
autonomic function, as in the case of certain cardiac fibres 
in the vagus, bladder fibres from the sacral region of the 
cord and the like. These neurone groups are made up of 
cell-bodies and fibres for the most part unmedullated. By far 
the greater portion of the impulses which affect their action 
apparently come from the central system. They certainly 
discharge impulses into the glands, the unstriped muscles, 
and, in the case of the heart, into striped muscle. Thus, for 
example, when an embarrassing announcement is made in 
our presence a sensory impulse passes over the auditory tract 
of the central system and thence, among other consequences, 
impulses are sent to the region in the medulla which controls 
the sympathetic ganglia connected with the muscular tissue of 
the blood-vessels, and straightway we find ourselves blushing. 
The sweat glands may also become active, causing us to 
perspire. We become aware of the action of these organs 
controlled by the autonomic system through the sensory im- 
pulses which they send back to the cerebral cortex. In 
blushing the face ^Durns/ i. e., the temperature nerves are 
stimulated and the sensation of warmth results. Similarly, 
if the heart beat be disturbed, as often occurs in embarrass- 
ment, sensations of throbbing or of pain are called forth. 
The general order of events is accordingly this : 

(1) Stimulation of the autonomic neurones, the original 
stimulus being either inside or outside the organism; (3) 



58 PSYCHOLOGY 

the consequent activity of muscles or glands reported (3) by 
sensory impulses aroused either directly (as by the heart) 
or indirectly (as in the cool sensation from the evaporation 
of perspiration) by such activity. 

All the important vegetative and life sustaining processes, 
such as respiration, circulation, digestion, etc., are under 
the guidance, partial or entire, of the autonomic nerves. It 
is consequently to the activity of these parts that we owe our 
general sense of bodily well-being, as well as our feelings of 
distress and pain when any of these great life functions go 
astray. Our consciousness is undoubtedly toned, as it were, 
all the time by the condition and activity of the organs under 
the control of the autonomic system. This fact vsdll become 
very evident when we begin the study of instinct and emotion. 
The entire nervous system, therefore, and not simply the cen- 
tral system, is concerned in the modifications of consciousness. 



CHAPTEE III 
MIND, NEURAL ACTION AND HABIT 

It will greatly facilitate our subsequent understanding of 
the operations of consciousness if we pause to examine at this 
point some of the things which the nervous system is able to 
accomplish without the direct assistance of the mind, together 
with certain general relations of consciousness to neural ac- 
tion. Such an examination will bring us face to face with 
one or two of the fundamental principles, or laws, which con- 
trol neural action. 

A Matter of Terminology. — Let it be understood once and 
for all that wherever we speak, as occasionally we do, as 
though the mind might in a wholly unique manner step in and 
bring about changes in the action of the nervous system, we 
are employing a convenient abbreviation of expression which 
harmonises with the ordinary everyday methods of thinking 
and speaking about these relations. The real fact appears to 
be, as we observed in the previous chapter, that whenever we 
have mental activity, we have also neural activity in the cere- 
bral cortex. The basal distinction in the two kinds of nervous 
action to which we are referring in this chapter is, therefore, 
not primarily between a form in which the mind suddenly 
produces changes in the nerves as against one in which it does 
not, but rather a distinction between certain kinds of neural 
activity overtly involving consciousness, e. g., cortical activity 
of the cerebrum, and certain other kinds not overtly in- 
volving it, e. g., spinal cord reflexes. To use on every occasion 
the long modifying phrases necessary to precise accuracy on 



6o PSYCHOLOGY 

this matter would evidently be unduly cumbrous, and so 
the commoner modes of expression are employed, but the 
fundamental facts which lie behind these convenient meta- 
phors must not be forgotten. 

Automatic and Reflex Acts. — If we take up the general 
character of neural action from the genetic point of view, we 
shall have our attention at once called to the fact that the 
new-born babe does not come into the world so completely 
helpless as is sometimes implied. There is a small group of 
acts which the little stranger is at once able to perform. 
Respiration, circulation, and digestion are three physiological 
functions which are carried on from the first. They all in- 
volve muscular movements, and constitute what are commonly 
known as automatic acts. The nervous stimulus for such 
activities is wholly, or in part, within the organism itself. 
Thus, the chemical condition of the blood may be responsible 
for changes in circulation and respiration, the presence of 
food in the stomach incites its digestive processes, etc. We 
are as a rule under normal conditions entirely unconscious of 
those automatic activities whose effects terminate inside the 
organism, although if anything goes wrong with them, they 
ordinarily cause us pain and thus attract our attention. 

Other motions can be excited by stimuli outside the organ- 
ism. Thus the sucking movements necessary for the child to 
obtain its food may be aroused by touching the lips. The 
fingers will clasp firmly any object put into them, an 
act said to be reminiscent of the days when our ancestors 
lived in trees, and the young had to cling to the branches. 
Acts of this kind are called reflex. A reflex act, as we re- 
marked in the previous chapter, is definable as an act in which 
a movement is made in direct response to a stimulus outside 
the organism, without the interposition of consciousness. Of 
course consciousness sometimes takes cognisance of reflex 
acts, but it does not produce them. We may be conscious that 
we have winked, and still the closure of the eyelids be due to 



MIND, NEURAL ACTION AND HABIT 6l 

a reflex. We are very unlikely not to remark that we have 
sneezed. Oftentimes, however, reflex acts escape our notice 
altogether, just as the automatic acts do. Eeflexes which 
are entirely unconscious, like that of the change in the size 
of the pupil of the eye, are called physiological reflexes. Those 
of which we are conscious are called sensation reflexes. They 
represent the transition from non-conscious physiological 
processes to fully conscious processes. Sensation reflexes 
can often be suppressed by conscious processes. A sneeze 
may be checked by a sufiiciently vigorous resolution, or by 
introducing some strong diverting sensation like a loud 
sound. Physiological reflexes are practically independent of 
conscious control. 

Were we to observe closely the growth of any child, we 
should find that from time to time new reflexes were added 
to his original stock. Thus, winking and sneezing would 
after a time appear, and finally at about twelve or fourteen 
years of age the full store of these reflexes as displayed 
by the adult would be complete. This course of development 
undoubtedly runs parallel to the development of the several 
nerve centres and the intercommunicating pathways. 

'Now such acts as these, few in number and simple as they 
are, evidently furnish the child with a nucleus of coordina- 
tions by means of which to begin the conquering of his world. 
They are evidently hereditary and, as every normal child 
possesses them, we may regard them unhesitatingly as racial, 
or phylogenetic, in nature. The animals generally possess at 
birth a larger equipment of such inherited coordinations 
than does man, and certain ones we commonly call instincts. 
These instincts we shall have occasion to examine with greater 
detail at a later point in the book, so we may pass them by 
here vdth the single remark that they are, as regards their 
origin, undoubtedly akin to the reflexes and the automatic 
acts. All three are based upon the existence of congenital 
pathways through the neurones of the nervous system by 



62 PSYCHOLOGY 

means of which stimulations of one or another kind are 
enabled to produce appropriate responsive movements. They 
represent thus the outcropping of the universal racial charac- 
teristics in the individual. 

Random Spontaneous Movements. — In addition to these 
relatively well-organised hereditary acts, babies display a 
great variety of random movements of the muscles of the 
face, arms and legs made in response to stimulations of every 
kind. Immediately after birth these movements are com- 
paratively few and feeble, but they rapidly increase both in 
variety and force. They are sometimes called spontaneous, 
because they are evidently too variable and erratic to be re- 
garded as reflexes. The term spontaneous must not be under- 
stood to carry any definite implication of will and conscious 
choice. Undoubtedly to the child himself these acts feel at 
first much like the true reflexes. The earliest movements of 
this type simply indicate that the nervous system is so con- 
structed as to permit neural excitement to escape over various 
pathways in a random and miscellaneous manner. The or- 
ganization of these paths so as to produce efficient acts, con- 
stitutes the process of establishing habits and acquiring volun- 
tary control of the muscles, of which we shall have much 
to say. 

Continuous Nature of Organic Activity.— In the light of 
the foregoing statements it may, perhaps, arouse no special 
surprise, although it is certainly a striking fact, that from 
the moment of birth until death there is never complete quiet 
throughout the organism. Always do we find muscular move- 
ments, always something is being done, always activity of 
some kind is going forward. In sleep itself, which we com- 
monly associate with complete repose, respiration and circu- 
lation are occurring, and although each specific muscular 
contraction is followed by a period of recuperation for that 
particular muscle, there is never entire quiet throughout the 
organism as a whole. When awake, these automatic activities 



MIND, NEURAL ACTION AND HABIT 63 

are augmented in the new-born child by such reflexes and 
random movements as we have mentioned. The reflexes nat- 
urally occur but infrequently, and as for consciousness, it ap- 
pears during the first weeks of a child's life only for brief 
periods, most of the time being devoted to deep sleep. Never- 
theless, the points at which it does appear are of fundamental 
importance for our Correct apprehension of its function, and 
we must examine them with care. 

The Appearance of Consciousness. — We obtain a significant 
clue for our undertaking by noticing at what points con- 
sciousness is most actively at work in adult experience — a 
matter to which we shall repeatedly refer as we proceed in 
our study. An illustration may serve to clarify the situation. 

An expert can use a type-writing machine almost without 
any conscious guidance of the movements which are necessary 
to operate it. He has acquired by long practice a set of habits 
whereby he manipulates the keys. These habits involve, 
among other things, coordinating the movements of the hand 
with movements of the eyes, the latter movements being in 
part reflex, e. g., accommodation of the lens. As the writer pro- 
ceeds, his mind may be entirely absorbed in the meaning of the 
sentences which he is composing. But if the machinery of the 
type-writer becomes clogged, the operator must at once direct 
his attention to the machine, abandoning all thought of the 
composition. His automatised writing habits are powerless 
to deal with such a difficulty and they must consequently give 
way to conscious control processes. If the facts of this illus- 
tration be typical of general conditions, as the author believes 
them to be, it may be asserted that consciousness in one or 
other of its forms normally appears and participates only in 
such activities as cannot be efficiently executed by the heredi- 
tary reflexes and the acquired automatisms. In the light of 
this conception, suggested by easily ascertainable facts of 
adult experience, we may interpret the facts of mental de- 
velopment in infancy, to which we necessarily gain a morg 



64 PSYCHOLOGY 

indirect access. Obviously in the case of the infant there 
can be at the outset no acquired habits, and it seems reason- 
able therefore to assume that conscious activities emerge at 
the point where reflex acts are found inadequate to meet 
the needs of particular situations. 

Evidently the equipment of coordinations with which we 
have found the new-born infant supplied cannot carry him 
very far in his adjustment to the complex surroundings amid 
which he finds himself placed. Why he should have been 
limited by nature to just the special group of inherited co- 
ordinations which we observe in him is a question for the 
biologist to answer. We cannot at present go behind the 
facts. But it is clear at once that in the list of muscular 
activities over which the babe has control, there is no mention 
of means for responding very effectively to auditory or visual 
stimuli, to name no others. If the reflexes and the automatic 
acts were wholly competent to steer the organism throughout 
its course, there is no reason to suppose that consciousness 
would ever put in an appearance. Certainly we never find it 
obtruding itself where these conditions are observed, except in, 
pathological instances. The formulation which has been pro- 
posed is intended to apply primarily in a descriptive way to 
the circumstances under which mental processes actually come 
to light in human life. The larger explanatory bearings of 
the formula as well as its applicability to the fundamental 
question of the genesis of consciousness in animal life are not 
under discussion at this point. 

An Illustration from Hearing. — Let us examine as a 
typical case what happens when the consciousness of sound 
first occurs. We know that many children are unable to 
hear for several days after birth, partly because the middle- 
ear is filled with mucus. When, however, the ear is able to 
receive the auditory stimulus, we have at once an excita- 
tion of the organism for which there is no definite pre-' 



MIND, NEURAL ACTION AND HABIT 65 

formed muscular response. Some children, to be sure, 
early display a tendency to move the head, as does an 
adult in localising a sound, and this may possibly be 
a partially hereditary propensity. But it is problematic 
whether this ever occurs immediately after birth, and cer- 
tainly it is quite rare. The usual thing under such conditions 
is unquestionably the appearance of vague consciousness 
dominantly of the auditory kind; the stimulation having the 
tendency, if it be intense, to discharge itself according to 
the law of "diffusion'^ (of which more anon) throughout 
many motor channels, involving random movements of the 
muscles in various parts of the body. 

Now these movements require coordination. If they are ever 
to be turned to account, they must be controlled and ordered. 
The new stimulus has broken rudely in upon the coordinated 
reflex and automatic activities already going on. It has 
probably affected the circulation and the respiration. If the 
child were feeding, it may have shocked him into cessation 
and, in place of the sucking, set up the unwelcome wail- 
ing. Such a case is typical of the occasions where conscious- 
ness comes to light. The organism has end-organs sensitive 
to sound stimulations, but no ready-made physiological ar- 
rangements for responding effectively to such stimuli. Con- 
sequently, when a stimulus of sound bursts in upon its 
activities, some of which, as we have seen, are always in 
progress, it finds itself helpless and unable to act in any save 
a random and disordered way. Straightway appears con- 
sciousness with its accompanying cortical activities, taking 
note of the nature of the stimulus and of the various kinds of 
muscular response which it called forth. From this point on, 
the development toward the attainment of those fixed and 
intelligent modes of reaction, which we call habits, is steady 
and uninterrupted. 

Were we to take time for a thorough exploration of all the 
sensory forms of consciousness, e. g., vision, taste, smell, touch 



66 PSYCHOLOGY 

etc., we should find that they are all called forth imder the 
same conditions of inadequacy on the part of the purely hered- 
itary physiological mechanisms, of movement, to meet the 
demand of the physical and social environment. 

The Formation of Habits. — It shall be our next business 
to trace in outline the process by which consciousness and 
the brain bring order out of this threatened chaos and leave 
the organism a group of habits to which additions are con- 
tinually made and by means of which the organism becomes 
increasingly master of the situation. This account will be 
only a sketch, however, for all the rest of our study will 
really be devoted to filling in the details. In the chapters 
upon volition we shall return specifically to these very points. 

A. Fundamental Facts of Nervous Action. — It will be 
remembered that in the previous chapter, when studying the 
nervous system, we observed that in its simplest forms 
the nervous organism appeared to be little more than a device 
to connect a sense organ with a muscle and so to enable the 
discharge of movements in response to stimulation. When 
we examined complex systems, like that of man, where 
memory processes are clearly in evidence, we noticed that 
this same principle was everywhere in evidence, although 
it gained its expression through the most elaborate arrange- 
ments in the nervous tissues. We remarked, also, that the 
normal fate of every incoming sensory stimulus was to find 
its way out again sooner or later in the form of muscular 
movements and glandular activities. This tendency is in no 
way modified by the complexity of the neural structure, ex- 
cept as regards the ease with which we detect such reappear- 
ance of the stimulus in the form of motion. If we bear these 
facts in mind, a considerable part of the mystery seemingly 
surrounding the processes we are now to investigate will fall 
away at the outset. 

B. (1) Excess Movements — The Beginning of Motor 
Control. — Let us take as a typical instance of the develop- 



MIND, NEURAL ACTION AND HABIT 6^ 

cient of motor control the series of events which occur when 
a baby iirst learns to connect a visual impression with a move- 
ment of his hand and arm. Suppose a bright, coloured ball 
is held before his eyes. This stimulus sends strong sensory 
currents over the optic tracts to the brain centres and some- 
how or other, as we have seen, these currents must get out 
again in the form of movements. But we have also seen 
that there are few or no preformed reflex pathways over 
which such neural excitement may be effectively discharged. 
Certainly there are none which enable the child to bring about 
changes in the stimulus, and this is commonly the important 
thing. Consequently, instead of some single relatively sim- 
ple movement like that of reaching, we observe precisely 
what the principle of "diffusion" postulates as normal, 
t. e., a mass of aimless, uncoordinated movements in a large 
number of muscles. The face is wrinkled in a frown or a 
smile, as the case may be, the fingers open and shut, the arms 
jerk about, the body and legs move spasmodically and pos- 
sibly the child cries out. This does not seem a very promis- 
ing beginning for the development of intelligent control, and 
yet in point of fact it contains just the features most essential 
for progress. Speaking generally, we may say that such 
stimulations call out an excess reaction, a motor response 
in which are contained, almost without fail, the special small 
groups of useful and important movements which subsequently 
become isolated from the general miscellaneous motor matrix 
in which they at first appear. We can detect the manner in 
which this result is attained by observing our illustrative 
baby still further in the light of our knowledge of how we, 
as adults, acquire new coordinations. 

Presently, if the stimulus be made more exciting by moving 
it to and fro, some of these excess movements of the arms 
will result in the child's hand coming into contact with the 
ball. We have already noted the hereditary clasping reflex, 
and we shall not be surprised, then, to find that the tactual 



68 PSYCHOLOGY 

stimulus to the skin of the hand results in the closing of the 
fingers. Now undoubtedly this first successful grasping of 
the seen object may be wholly accidental, in the sense that it 
is wholly unforeseen by the child. He is much more surprised 
by the occurrence than any of his interested observers, who 
accredit him with a wealth of conscious purpose and inten- 
tion of which he is completely innocent. But let us observe 
what fundamental consequences are bound up with this success. 
(2) Agreeable and Intense Character of Accidental 
Successful Movements. — To begin with, the mere shock of 
surprise and (generally) pleasure makes the connection of 
the tactual-motor sensations from his hand with the visual 
sensations from his eye extremely vivid. As he moves his hand, 
he finds that his visual impressions change. When his hand 
comes to rest, his visual object also remains quiet. There is 
no reason to suppose that the child is in any definitely re- 
flective way aware of these things. He does not say to him- 
self : "When I see my hand move, I see the ball move; there- 
fore, the two things are connected in some way.'' Indeed, 
it is probably impossible for us in adult life to portray ac- 
curately to ourselves the simple immediacy of such experi- 
ences as these in infant life. But the important point, after 
all, is this, that of all the sensations which his whole ac- 
quaintance with the ball has brought the child up to this 
point, the ones connected with his seeing it when he grasps 
it, and his seeing it change when his arm-and-hand-feeling 
changed, are the ones most intensely connected in his con- 
sciousness. 

If we read backward into his mind, then, what we all 
know about our ovni adult experiences, we may be sure that 
the child's organism is extremely likely to retain the memory 
of the highly vivid connection between the visual sensations 
of the ball and these tactual-motor feelings which accompanied 
the successful grasping of it. Moreover, the genuineness 
of this connection is indicated by the evident tendency to 



MIND, NEURAL ACTION AND HABIT 69 

make the successful kind of arm movement, rather than any 
of the dozens of other movements with which he started his 
response to the ball, provided we give him at once an oppor- 
tunity to get again the same visual impression from which he 
set out. To be sure, many of the irrelevant movements per- 
sist for a time, but they rapidly become less frequent and 
finally disappear. The perfect result is of course rarely at- 
tained without many trials. In this way, however, the child 
speedily does for himself what nature did in the case of the 
reflexes, i. e., gives himself a neural pathway through which 
sensory impulses may flow out over motor channels for the 
production of effective coordinated muscular movements. In 
this case we have observed the establishing of a control con- 
nection between eye and hand. The sight of the ball will 
henceforth tend to call out the appropriate reaching and 
grasping movement. 

(3) The Inhibition of ITseless Movements. — The 
more firmly this connection becomes established, and the 
more deeply the pathway is cut between the visual sensory 
centres and the hand-arm motor centres, the more do the irrel- 
evant movements of face, legs, and body tend to drop away. 
They are inhibited, as we say. Probably this inhibition is in 
largest measure due to the fact that the newly formed channel 
is increasingly able to carry off all the neural excitation, and 
in consequence less remains to overflow into other channels. 
But the result is certainly beyond question, whatever the 
means by which it is attained. Moreover, just in proportion 
as any such coordination becomes perfect, consciousness tends 
to drop out of the supervision altogether, and to turn the 
process over to the purely physiological mechanisms of the 
organism. Figure 31 illustrates certain of the relations which 
have been described. 

The Attainment and Retention of Modifications in the 
Hervous System. — The nervous system is not only sensitive 
to the various forms of stimulation which we call light, 



70 PSYCHOLOGY 

sound, temperature, etc., it also manages in some way or 
other, as we have already observed, to store up the modi- 
fications which the stimulations produce in it. These modi- 
fications which are thus preserved manifest themselves in the 
disposition of nervous impulses to run in the same channel 
which predecessors have cut out. If the nervous system were 
an inanimate mass, we might liken that which occurs to the 
process by which a path is made across a meadow. The first 
wayfarer may have selected his special route for any cause 




HM LM BM.FM 



Fig. 31. Diagram to illustrate the establishment of motor control 
through the principle of "excess discharge." VS, visual stimu- 
lus setting up excitation in the retina, which transmits it to 
VG, visual centre in the occipital cortex. Thence the neural ex- 
citement overflows into FG, motor cells controlling muscles of 
the face, BG, motor cells controlling muscles of the body, LC, 
motor cells controlling the legs, and HG, motor cells governing 
the hand and arm. FG, BG, LG, and HG, all discharge into their 
connected muscles, FM, BM, LM, and HM, and each muscular 
contraction sets up kinsesthetic sensations, KF, KB, KL, and 
KH. Of all the movements madejHM alone affects the stimulus 
VS. VSR represents the stimulus reinforced by being moved 
by the hand. This intensifying of the factors VG, HG, HM, 
and the connected factor KH, renders the pathway from V8 
through VG, HG, to HM more pervious than any of the other 
possible pathways. Consequently the tendency gets fixed for 
VS, or its connected cortical processes VG and KH, to discharge 
into the appropriate grasping movement, EMH. 

whatsoever, and his course may have been devious, like those 
of the cows which are said to have laid out the streets of 
Boston. But he has left a mark in the downtrodden grass, 
which the next person to cross the field is likely to follow. 
Presently the grass is wholly worn away, and thereafter every- 
one follows the beaten path. 



MIND, NEURAL ACTION AND HABIT 7 1 

The action of nervous impulses is often spoken of as though 
this kind of thing were precisely what happened. But the 
moment we recall the fact that the nervous system is part of 
a living organism, in which processes of nutrition and repair 
are constantly going forward, and when we remember, further- 
more, that the organism itself can in large measure decide 
whether a stimulus shall be experienced again and whether 
a movement shall be repeated or not, we see that the metaphor 
of the pathway in the meadow must be abandoned in favour 
of some idea in which the vital processes of the organism 
are recognized and the living tissues treated as something 
other than so much static, plastic clay, which the accidents 
of the external world can mould to their own exclusive pur- 
poses. It is undoubtedly true that when avenues, or channels, 
of nervous activity become once established, they tend ever 
after to remain and be employed. But the point which we 
must emphasise is, that the organism itself largely decides 
which pathways shall in the first instance become thus es- 
tablished. When one recalls the large number of sense organs 
on the one hand, and the large number of muscles on the 
other, between which the central nervous system affords con- 
nections, it will at once be appreciated that, if the establish- 
ment of dominant connections in the new-born child were 
left to the accidents of the first external stimulations and to 
the vagaries of merely passive nervous centres, the chances 
would favour the acquirement of insane and harmful habits 
of reaction. Objects which burn would be just as likely to 
produce movements of grasping as movements of retreat. 

We may summarise the general purport of habit as a funda 
mental principle of nervous action in two propositions. (1) 
Nervous currents tend to employ those pathways which have 
been previously established. (2) The organism itself plays a 
governing part in determining what pathways shall become 
thus fixed. 

The Mechanism of Established Habits. — When an habitual 



72 ' PSYCHOLOGY 

coordination becomes thoroughly ingrained, it seems, as we 
have repeatedly remarked, to become almost reflex and to dis- 
pense wholly with conscious guidance. A skillful telegrapher 
can largely abandon over-sight of his hand in sending familiar 
forms of messages. A musician can play familiar scores 
while carrying on a conversation. Many of us can write 
common words although absorbed in some other mental occu- 
pation. We can walk long distances while deeply engaged 
in reflection and apparently quite inattentive to the muscular 
movements we are making. To be sure, it is difficult to prove 
conclusively that under such circumstances we. are ever abso- 
lutely oblivious to our muscular activities ; hut to all practical 
intent we are surely often entirely preoccupied with other 
things and still are able effectively to carry on habitual acts. 
A widely accepted account of the mechanism of the process 
maintains that what occurs is represented hy the following 
diagram. (Figure 32.) The act — suppose it to be a writing 
movement — ^is started either by an idea or a sensation. Forth- 
with, the first' of a chain of 
51 s s s Tevelant movements occurs, 

perhaps in this instance the 

downward stroke of the pen. 

This movement is reported by 

M M M sensations ' from the muscles, 

^ „^ joints and tendons of the hand 

Figure 32. ;i mi, +• 

and arm. These sensory stimu- 
lations which in turn instigate succeeding movements, go on 
till the act is complete, or until the will steps in and stops 
the performance.' 

This description is probably roughly correct, but it presents 
far too simple and diagrammatic a picture to be taken liter- 
ally. Experiments show that in such cases as writing illus- 
trates, the sensory cues which are involved come from the 
eye and even the ear quite as often as from the muscles and 
joints. They show, too, that ideas, as distinct from sensations, 




MIND, NEURAL ACTION AND HABIT 73 

often play an important part, and that there is the utmost 
variation from person to person, and in the same person under 
different conditions, as to what sensory and ideational material 
is used. But that orderly muscular movements follow imme- 
diately upon cues which have been organized into these 
habitual groupings^ that the cues follow promptly upon the 
previous movement, a.nd furthermore, that the cues are often 
of an essentially physiological and non-mental character, may 
be regarded as certain. So far as the diagram indicates these 
facts it is correct. 

Results of Habit. — The advantages which accrue from habit 
are mostly self-evident. When we compare such habitual 
coordinations as are involved in writing the familiar English 
script with those employed in writing the German characters 
with which most of us are far less familiar, we note that the 
former letters are much more rapidly executed, that they are 
much more accurately made, and that they produce far less 
fatigue. It is evident, therefore, that habit is a most valu- 
able contributor to efficiency in action. Any process which 
increases speed and accuracy, while at the same time it di- 
minishes the fatigue of labour, is a possession to be cherished. 

But more important, if possible, than any of these results is 
the fact that through the mediation of habits the physiological 
organism is enabled to cope almost unaided with situations 
which originally required the assistance of conscious processes, 
and consciousness is thus left free to go about further attain- 
ments, which will in their turn become habits and be handec 
over to certain of the relatively non-conscious processes of the 
nervous system. Mind is thus ever going on in advance 
and building up coordinations, which are necessary to the 
most effective reactions upon the environment. The whole 
course of mental development could truly enough be described 
as made up of this process of acquiring habits, which once 
imbedded in the tissues of the nervous system become the 
permanent possession of the individual, ready, when need 



74 PSYCHOLOGY 

arises, to step in and deal with the necessities of any particular 
situation. Moreover, development usually ceases whenever the 
necessity for further nicety of adaptation to surroundings is 
no longer definitely felt. 

This is undoubtedly the reason why various habits settle 
down on us permanently at certain ages. Many bodily habits, 
e. g., habits of personal cleanliness, are substantially fixed 
during childhood, likewise such nervous habits as biting 
the finger nails. One's manners and standards of dress, 
one's mode of enunciation and tone of voice are commonly 
determined during adolescence, as well as one's general 
moral and religious habits. Professional habits are naturally 
acquired somewhat later and are ordinarily more mobile 
than the others mentioned, with the possible exception of 
the moral and religious group. The lawyer, physician, priest, 
teacher, bank clerk, book agent and day laborer has each 
his characteristic gestures, attitudes and habits of thought 
which mark him distinctly in the eyes of the expert. If we 
make essential and radical changes In any of these funda- 
mental habits, it is because of some change in our circum- 
stances which renders us sensitive to the need for readjust- 
ment. 

Innate Hereditary Acts and Acquired Habits. — If we now 
look back over the ground covered in this chapter, we shall 
see that consciousness occupies a curious middle-ground be- 
tween hereditary reflex and automatic activities upon the one 
hand and acquired habitual activities upon the other. The 
organism comes into the world with a small capital of these 
hereditary coordinations. These suffice to meet the most im- 
mediate and pressing needs in the conservation of life, but they 
are hopelessly defective for the attainment of anything beyond 
these immediate necessities. Now and again the world of 
light and sound and contact breaks in upon the coordinations 
which our hereditary neural mechanisms are executing, be- 
cause the adaptive responses made by these mechanisms are 



MIND, NEURAL ACTION AND HABIT 75 

inadequate to the organic necessities of the situation, and at 
such points we find consciousness appearing. Consciousness 
immediately enters upon its characteristic cycle. At first of 
course its activities are vague and crude. But presently we 
find selected from out the masses of motor responses created 
by the sensory stimulations to which the sense organs are 
sensitive, those particular ones which issue in effective mus- 
cular control over the environment, and straightway we are 
confronted with habits. As soon as these habits are firmly 
established, consciousness betakes itself elsewhere to points 
where habitual accommodatory movements are as yet wanting 
and needed. 

It is an interesting fact incidental to this development, 
that when we attempt to inject consciousness into a process 
which is either reflex or habitual, we upset the accuracy of the 
coordination and mutilate its efiiciency. Thus, to direct atten- 
tion to the act of swallowing, which is a reflex, is to render 
it for many persons all but impossible of performance. Wit- 
ness the common difficulty in taking pills. Similiarly, to direct 
attention to one's mode of walking often results in producing 
a thoroughly artificial gait quite unlike one's normal manner. 
The early experiences of appearance before the public, as on 
the stage, illustrate the point. They also suggest the practi- 
cal wisdom, if one would avoid embarrassment and fail- 
ure on such occasions, of concentrating attention as completely 
as possible on the task in hand, throwing oneself wholly into 
it, so that there may be no mental energy left over to put on 
one's own bodily status. 

Habit and Will. — Although we do not commonly think of 
it in this way, a moment's reflection will show us that all 
expression of the will depends upon our ability to command 
habitual muscular coordinations. For example, I decide after 
careful consideration that duty bids me refuse a friend's 
request. ISTow note, that if I speak to my friend, I must fall 
back upon habits of articulation, which cost me much labour 



76 PSYCHOLOGY 

as a child to attain, but which now largely take care of them- 
selves. If I decide to write my decision, again I must employ 
habitual activities, and I cannot by any device communicate 
intelligibly with my friend without employing these or other 
similar muscular movements which are essentially habits. 
Neural habit, therefore, is not only the great emancipator of 
consciousness from the necessities of endless control over the 
same trivial round of acts, it is the great tool by which that 
feature of the mind which we call the will executes its 
behests and renders our mental decisions and choices effective 
in the world of action. Without habits, consciousness could 
never get beyond the borders of the inevitable daily routine. 
With habit, however, it is able to pass from victory to victory, 
leaving behind in captivity the special coordinations it needs. 

Intellectual Habits. — We cannot linger to develop the mat- 
ter, but it may be helpful simply to point out that the assimi- 
lation of any subject matter, such as mathematics, for in- 
stance, involves a precisely similar establishment of habits, 
which, as the material is thoroughly mastered, are left behind 
for use when required. We do not ordinarily regard such 
attainments as concerned in any fundamental manner with 
muscular movements, although we all recognise readily enough 
that the sole manner of assuring ourselves a reliable command 
over a subject matter is to use it, to do something with it. 
We sometimes think of such doing as purely mental. In 
reality, however, movements are involved in all cases, and, 
even were this not true, the general principle of habit, so far 
as this stands for a law governing the transmission of nervous 
currents, would still be valid. The gain in rapidity, efficiency, 
and lessened fatigue would remain, not to mention the freeing 
of consciousness for further achievements. 

Apart from such command over special departments of in- 
formation, what are knovm as '^Tiabits of thought," which we 
are often vaguely told we ought to cultivate, are in reality 
largely habits of exercising our attention. We are assured, 



MIND, NEURAL ACTION AND HABIT 77 

for instance, that the pursuit of certain studies is valuable 
because it will teach us desirable habits of thought. Now when 
this assurance means anything more than the expression of 
a pious hope, it refers either to the attainment of a familiar- 
ity bordering on habit, with a useful field of information, or 
to the securing of general modes of approaching a new subject 
matter; habits of alert attention, habits of logical division 
and persistent search for relations, etc. Whether any special 
studies are preeminently valuable in the production of this 
second class of results is a question which can -be answered 
more judiciously,, if at all, at the end of this book. Meantime, 
we shall not err seriously if we assert that a wholly fallacious 
value has often been placed upon so-called formal disciplines, 
which are supposed to teach us how to do things in general, 
without any special reference to accomplishing particular 
results. 

Ethical Aspects of Habit. — The moment one gets clearly in 
mind the physiological nature of habit and its basis in the 
nervous tissues, its ominous significance for morality becomes 
evident. To break up a bad habit means not only to secure a 
penitent, reformatory attitude of mind, — this is often easy to 
achieve, — it means a complete change in certain parts of the 
nervous system, and this is frequently a thing of utmost diffi- 
culty of attainment. No amount of good resolution can 
possibly wipe out at once the influences of nervous habits of 
long standing, and if these habits be pernicious, the slavery 
of the victim is sure to be pitiable and likely to be permanent. 
On the other hand, the momentous significance for the indi- 
vidual and society of deeply imbedded habits of a moral kind 
cannot be overestimated. The existence of such habits means 
stability, reliability, and a promise of the utmost possible 
confidence. It is all but impossible for one to break over the 
moral habits of a lifetime. One m.ay at times be mildly 
tempted by the possibilities such breaches hold out, but actual 
violation in overt action is essentially impossible. The man 



78 PSyCHOLOCS 

who has been vicious all his life is hardly free to become 
virtuous, and the virtuous man is in a kind of bondage to 
righteousness. What one of us could go out upon the street 
and murder the first person we met ? Such action is literally 
impossible for us, so long as we retain our sanity. 

In view of these considerations, no one can over-estimate 
the ethical importance of habit. To make of the body, in 
which our habits are conserved, a friend and ally and not an 
enemy, is an ideal which should be strenuously and intelli- 
gently held out to every young person. One never can say at 
what precise moment it may become literally impossible to 
shake off a bad habit. But we know with perfect certainty 
that our nervous tissues are storing up every day the results 
of our actions, and the time is, therefore, sure to come 
when no amount of merely pious intention can redeem us from 
the penalty of our folly. Meantime, for one who has fallen 
under the sway of a habit from which he wishes to escape, this 
general advice may be given : begin the new regime at once, do 
not wait for a convenient season. If the result be not likely 
to be physically disastrous, stop wholly, do not taper off. Give 
yourself surroundings which will offer the least possible 
temptation. Do not try merely to suppress the bad habit. If 
possible, put something else which is good in place of it. See 
to it that you are always occupied in some proper way until 
you feel sure that the grip of the bad habit is loosened. 

It is to be frankly admitted that viewed in a broad way 
the benefits of habit have their limitation. If the world 
always did things just as they have been done in the past 
our civilisation would approach that of the Chinese. But the 
changes which by the consensus of intelligent persons are 
beneficial to mankind, the alterations of habit which are 
progressive, are rarely such as have to do with those purely 
personal forms of action whose perversion constitutes the 
most flagrant form of vice. 

Moral progress always consists in a harmonised action of 



MIND, NEURAL ACTION AND HABIT 79 

wider and wider interests, the securing of broader and truer 
visions of life. Such progress, while it may change old and 
accepted habits of life, does not for a moment involve any 
departure from those rules of personal honesty, sobriety, and 
chastity which the world's history has demonstrated again and 
again to be foundations of all sane, happy, human life. 



CHAPTEE IV 

ATTENTION, DISCEIMINATION, AND 
ASSOCIATION 

I. ATTENTION" 

Consciousness and Attention. — ^^^''e announced our purpose 
at the outset to adopt a biological point of view in our psy- 
chological study, and to attempt at every step to see just how 
the mind aids in the adjustment of the human being to the 
environment. If we turn from the merely general statement 
that the fundamental function of consciousness is to better 
such adaptive activities, and observe any specific instances 
of the process of adaptation itself, we shall always find that 
the actual work of accommodation is going on at the point 
which we call the point of attention. Attention, we shall 
accordingly discover, represents the very heart of conscious 
activity, its most important centre of vitality. It therefore 
deserves our careful notice. 

In a vague fashion we all recognize this rudimentary sig- 
nificance of attention. Thus we speak of the awakening of 
the new-born infant's mind when we first see signs that the 
child is attending to something. Moreover, we roughly 
measure the growth of children in intellectual maturity and 
power by their increasing ability to give prolonged attention 
to definite trains of thought. Alienists and specialists in ner- 
vous disorders inform us that mental disease is commonly 
accompanied by disturbance in the power of attention. In 
§ome forms of neurasthenia the attention is extremely un- 



ATTENTION 8 1 

stable and irritable, flitting from one subject to another with 
feverish haste. In mania there is often a similar, but much 
exaggerated, attention to the flow of disconnected ideas. In 
melancholia, on the other hand, as in the milder types of 
neurasthenic hypochondria, attention is morbidly fascinated 
by some single idea, or group of ideas, and cannot be long 
lured away to the normal business of life. 

Definition of Attention. — When we attempt a definition of 
attention we experience the same sort of difficulty which we 
met in defining consciousness, and for a similar reason. So 
long as we are conscious at all, attention in some degree is 
present. We therefore find it difiicult to define it without 
employing the thing itself in the definition. Because of this 
fact, attention has been commonly referred to as a 'general, 
or universal, characteristic of consciousness,' or as a 'general 
attitude,' especially as an attitude of expectancy. In default 
of a wholly satisfactory definition of attention, we may at 
least illustrate what we mean by the term. When we look at 
a printed page there is always some one portion of it, per- 
haps a word, which we see more clearly than we do the rest; 
and out beyond the margin of the page we are still conscious 
of objects which we see only in a very imperfect way. The 
field of consciousness is apparently like this visual field. There 
is always a central point of which we are momentarily more 
vividly conscious than of anything else. Fading gradually 
away from this point into vaguer and vaguer consciousness, is 
a margin of objects, or ideas, of which we are aware in a sort 
of mental indirect vision. This fact that consciousness al- 
ways has a focal point, which reveals the momentary activity 
of the mind, is what is meant hy the fact of attention, so 
far as it can be described in terms of the content of conscious- 
ness. Baldwin has suggested the accompanying diagram- 
matic presentation of the facts we are speaking of, in con- 
nection with certain others. (Figure 33.) The margin of 
mental processes, outside the focal point of attention, con- 



82 



PSYCHOLOGY 



I 




stitntes what James calls the "fringe of consciousness." 
Whether we are attending to objects in the world about us, or 
to ideas in our own minds, there is always such a fringe, 
partly made up of sensations, partly of ideas. Ko matter 
what we are especially attending to, we are never completely 

oblivious to all other sensory and 
ideational processes. 

Sensations and thoughts to which 
we attend commonly occupy con- 
sciousness longer and more steadily 
and are ordinarily clearer and more 
intense than the remainder of the 
field. Thus, if we give our definite 
attention to a musical note we re- 
mark its exact quality much more 
perfectly than when we simply listen 
to it in a casual way. It is apt 
to seem more intense, and it cer- 
tainly tends to linger longer in the 
mind. Statements of this kind 
bring out the fact that we use the 
term attention at times as virtually 
synonymous with mental activity, 
and it is this point of view which 
Justifies us in speaking of directing 
the attention to an object or to 
any part of the field of conscious- 
ness. To turn the attention to an 
object is simply to direct one's mental activity toward it. 
Now, our mental activity, considered as directive, is com- 
monly called conation, and we must accordingly conclude 
that attention is a rudimentary form of conation, or tuill. 
This is unquestionably true. 

We see, then, that attention is capable of being considered 
in two different ways. We may emphasise the mere fact of 



Fig. 33. Graphic repre- 
sentation of the field 
of consciousness. 1, 
the unconscious (phys- 
iological) ; 2, the sub- 
conscious, by many 
psychologists not dis- 
tinguished from 1; 3, 
diffused, vague con- 
sciousness; Jf, more act- 
ive and distinct con- 
sciousness, often not 
distinguished from 5, 
the focal point of at- 
tention. The several 
zones shade into one 
another and are by no 
means sharply sepa- 
rated, as the lines of 
the diagram unfortu- 
nately suggest. ( Af- 
ter Baldwin.) 



ATTENTION 83 

mental activity, illustrated by all attending ; or we may dwell 
upon the structure of any moment of such attentive con- 
sciousness, and note the fact of its containing a focal point, 
with a fading margin. But our emphasis upon one or other 
of these phases of attention does not alter the fact that the 
mental process, which we describe in these two ways, is one 
and the same. In the remainder of the chapter we shall 
therefore make no attempt rigidly to dissever these aspects of 
every act of attention, although we shall be frankly most 
interested in attention as an instance of mental activity. 
Meanwhile, the best practical definition of attention is afforded 
by such an analysis and description of it as is contained in 
the remainder of this chapter. 

Selective Activities Disclosed in "^ Attention. — Probably 
the most striking characteristic of acts of attention is their 
selective nature, and the significance of this function will 
grow more conspicuous as we examine the facts. We have 
seen that the nervous system is so constituted that by means 
of its sense organs it is capable of being affected by various 
forms of motion in the physical world, e. g., light, heat, 
sound, etc. This fact has itself sometimes been regarded 
as a form of cosmic, or organic selection. Thus, of all the 
rates of vibration in the physical world, the normal retina 
responds only to those between the' limits of approximately 
440 trillions and 790 trillions per second. In a similar way 
the ear selects a certain group of sound vibrations, and so 
on for the other senses. Undoubtedly there are many forms 
of vibrations in the physical world to which we are either 
partially or wholly insensitive, because we have no sense 
organs appropriately attuned to their special rates, and are 
thus incapable of receiving them. The X-ray and magnetic 
currents afford illustrations of such physical phenomena. 

However all this may be, it is easy to convince oneself that 
innumerable stimulations of the kind to which we are sen- 
sitive are always falling upon the sense organs; and were we 



84 PSYCHOLOGY 

conscious of all of them at once our minds would present a 
curious conglomerate. As a matter of fact, only a few of 
these stimuli ever succeed in producing simultaneously that 
form of cortical reaction which accompanies consciousness, 
and consequently we are never at any one moment aware of 
more than a small part of them. Apparently the psycho- 
physical organism selects from the wide range of potential 
objects those special ones which shall receive attention and 
so come to consciousness. Thus, when reading an entertain- 
ing book we may become altogether oblivious to the rattling 
of carts in the street, to the odour of the smoking lamp, to the 
contact sensations from our clothing, etc. Similarly, when 
we are preoccupied with some train of thought, our atten- 
tion dwells upon this idea, and turns away from that, accord- 
ing as the one or the other appears to the mind to be relevant 
and useful for the business in hand. One and the same 
physical object may be attended to in various ways, so that 
it becomes mentally several different objects. For instance, 
the top of my desk is one thing when I give it my attention 
in the search for a mislaid paper. It is quite another thing 
when I attend to it in order to determine of what wood it 
is made, and it changes once again if I attend to it to dis- 
cover whether it can be moved through a certain narrow door. 
Indeed, were it not for the- selective activities exercised in 
the form of reasoning, it is clear that we could never make 
any consistent mental advance, but that we should always be 
at the mercy of our sporadic ideas. We can, perhaps, examine 
this selective function of attention to best advantage by 
analysing the principal forms in which attention is found to 
operate. 

Forms of Attention. — Probably the most fundamental 
division of attentive processes, and certainly one of the 
oldest, is that into active and passive, or, as they are better 
termed, voluntary and involuntary attention. A more satis- 
factory division, which we shall adopt, adds one more class, 



ATTENTION 8$ 

and recognises (A) voluntary, (B) non-voluntary, or spon- 
taneous, and (C) involuntary attention. 

A. Voluntary Attention. — Active, or voluntary, attention 
is precisely what the name implies, attention as the result of 
definitely self-initiated activity. In its clearest and most 
unambiguous form it always involves mental strain and 
effort. Whenever we attend to anything because we explic- 
itly will to, we are exercising voluntary attention. It mat- 
ters not what the object may be to which our minds are thus 
directed. It may be a sound or an odour, an object which we 
see, or an object which we touch ; a thought in the mind itself, 
a memory, an emotion, or anything one pleases. So long as 
it is attended to, as the result of our definite purpose to give 
it attention, it must be regarded as involving a case of volun- 
tary attention. ' 

That we are capable, within certain limits, of thus direct- 
ing our mental activity wherever we will is one of the 
easiest of facts to verify introspectively. Probably the reader 
has found repeated occasion, before reaching the present 
point in this book, to make just such voluntary efforts of 
attention to prevent his mind from wandering off to more 
attractive by-paths. Obviously the selective function upon 
which we have already insisted so strongly, is conspicuously 
in evidence in active attention. Moreover, it seems probable 
that this type of attention, involving, as it does, the purpose- 
ful direction of our thoughts, would in its fully developed 
form be a somewhat later achievement than the other forms, 
which require for their existence far less of experience. To 
direct one's thought involves the possession of purposes and 
plans, however rudimentary, and these are the outgrowth 
of experience and relative maturity. Young infants are 
hardly capable of voluntary attention in any proper sense, 
although they ma}' achieve both non-voluntary and involun- 
tary attention from the beginning. 

B. Non-Voluntary Attention. — It requires no extended 



86 PSYCHOLOGY 

reflection upoii our everyday experience to reveal to us the 
fact that in the course of every twenty-four hours we attend 
in an effortless way to a great many things to which we have 
no explicit purpose to direct our thought, to which we cannot, 
therefore, be said to attend voluntarily in the full sense of the 
word; but to which we certainly are not attending against 
our will and in spite of ourselves. Such cases constitute what 
is meant by non-voluntary, or spontaneous, attention. A few 
illustrations may make the distinction clearer. 

It happens not infrequently, for example, that we suddenly 
arouse to consciousness of the fact that for several minutes 
our minds have been running off on subjects quite discon- 
nected from the special occupation with which we may at the 
moment be engaged. We have "lost ourselves,'^ as we say, 
in some day dream, perhaps. Our prolonged attention to a 
subject which sincerely interests us is often of this same 
character. Our attention is not given as the result of any 
effort on our part. Eather should we find that it required 
effort to direct our attention elsewhere. It necessitates no 
strenuous act of will for the boy interested in athletics to give 
his attention to a newspaper account of a football game. On 
the contrary, his attention can only be obtained for less ex- 
citing themes by some artifice on your part, or by a self- 
sacrificing effort of volition upon his. 

The attempt has often been made to specify the objects 
to which we naturally attend in this spontaneous way. Other 
things equal we seem to attend by preference to intense stimu- 
lations, to objects which produce pleasure, to moving things, 
to persons and animals, and in general to everything which 
elicits emotion. Such a list has, however, little more than a 
rough suggestive value. It requires to be qualified in many 
important particulars before it can be accepted unequivocally. 

So far as these cases of non-voluntary attention reflect the 
actual nature of our interests, they must be regarded as afford- 
ing peculiarly intimate information of the real character of 



ATTENTION 87 

our minds, and so of our wills. They are tlms, in this par- 
ticular, closely related to voluntary attention. After all, 
what I am interested in is a very close synonym for what 
mentally and morally I am. 

C. Involuntary Attention. — However genuinely voluntary 
and non-voluntary attention may differ from one another, they 
neither of them involve attention given against the will. But 
there are numerous cases in which, at first sight, anyhow, this 
form of attention apparently occurs ; and it is to this that the 
name "involuntary attention'' has been given. Thus, for 
example, if the door slams while I am writing this sentence, 
I am seemingly obliged to hear 4he sound, however much I 
might prefer not to do so. To be sure, if I am sufficiently 
preoccupied a very loud noise may in this way escape my 
notice; and the obliviousness to ordinary sounds, such as the 
ringing of the dinner-bell, the striking of the clock, etc., of 
persons thus engrossed in some interesting occupation is 
too familiar to require comment. Even severe wounds may 
under such conditions go unnoticed. Archimedes, absorbed in 
his studies and unconscious of the sacking of Syracuse, is the 
classical illustration of this kind of thing. 

But despite the fact that when one is thoroughly immersed 
in some congenial undertaking one becomes relatively insen- 
sitive to sensory stimuli, which otherwise would be noticed, 
the further fact obstinately remains that even under such 
conditions stimuli of sufficient intensity will force themselves 
into consciousness. Certainly we should all agree that in this 
way bright flashes of light, loud sounds, unpleasant odours, 
etc., repeatedly intrude themselves upon our attention dis- 
tinctly against our wills. Moreover, there are experiences in 
which ideas, instead of sense impressions, thus force them- 
selves in upon our attention against our wills. What are 
known as insistent ideas are of this character. The hypo- 
chondriac, for instance, is unable long to keep his attention 
away from his own bodily ailments, real or fancied. He may 



88 PSYCHOLOGY 

make a sincere effort to divert his mind, but in spite of him- 
self the unwelcome idea presently shows its face at the door 
and claims his recognition. 

Less definitely morbid than such cases, and still illustrative 
of the imperious command exercised at times over our at- 
tention by certain ideas, are the intense experiences of the 
emotional kind. Great joy, great grief, great anxiety, brook 
no prolonged opposition. We may attempt to force our at- 
tention on to the lines of the day's work and for a moment 
succeed, only to find ourselves in the next moment once more 
mastered by the idea we had attempted to put behind us. 
Certain psychologists would prefer not to give the name in- 
voluntary attention to these cases of attention against the will 
to ideas. But they are clearly more closely related to this 
form of attention, as illustrated by our forced attention to 
intense sensory excitation, than they are to the other classes 
we have distinguished; and we shall accordingly designate 
them as cases of involuntary attention. 

Interrelations of the Forms of Attention. — We have al- 
ready intimated that involuntary and non-voluntary, or spon- 
tanvX)us, attention are genetically prior to voluntary attention. 
Undoubtedly the earliest experiences of a baby involve in 
largest measure spontaneous attention to sensory stimuli. 
The rude power with which some of these stimulations force 
themselves on the child's notice might give ground for the 
postulation of involuntary attention also. But if we confine 
the term '^involuntary attention" strictly to such cases as those 
in which we attend against our wills, it is doubtful whether 
we ought often to apply the designation to a young child's at- 
tention; for we can hardly speak with confidence of the new- 
bom child's possessing any resolution not to attend to a given 
stimulus. Spontaneous attention, then, worhing in the main 
upon the sensory material supplied by the physical surround- 
ings, constitutes probably the earliest and most fundamental 
type of attention process. 



ATTENTION 89 

(1) Voluntary attention is apparently a derivative form of 
spontaneous attention, which may arise as soon as, and when- 
ever, there is a tendency to the splitting of attention, a felt 
tendency to opposition against the direction our attentive 
energies are taking. Evidently this can only occur when we 
have developed intellectually to a suflficient degree to set over 
against some momentary disposition, or action, a more or less 
definitely formed plan involving interests and purposes op- 
posed to the present activities. When we say that in volun- 
tary attention we force ourselves to attend to some particular 
object or idea, what we evidently mean is, that the mind in its 
entirety is brought to bear in suppressing certain disturbing 
objects or ideas, and in bringing to the front the chosen ones. 
The act of voluntary attention is, in short, an expression of 
the sovereignty of the whole mind over its lesser parts, i. e., 
over the disturbing or alluring ideas and sensations. 

(2) As has been already pointed out, spontaneous, or 
non-voluntary, attention is likewise in reality just such an 
expression of our total mental organisation at the moment. 
Those things to which we spontaneously attend are the things 
to which our minds, by virtue of their temporary condition, 
inevitably go out. And if we took into account the entirety 
of these spontaneous acts of our attention for any considerable 
period of time, we should undoubtedly secure an extremely 
accurate portrait of the real constitution of our minds. In 
the sense, therefore, upon which we commented briefly in 
an earlier paragraph of the chapter, non-voluntary attention 
is itself an expression of the individuality of the mind, and 
thus an expression of the true source of our volitional acts. 
It is a sort of voluntary attention, in which there is no 
internal, mental opposition to be overcome, and from which 
we are consequently apt to feel one characteristic fact of com- 
plete volition has been subtracted. External obstacles are 
of course repeatedly encountered and mastered in this form of 
mental activity. It appears, then, that the distinction be- 



QO PSYCHOLOGY 

tween volmitary and non- voluntary attention is not absolute, 
in the sense that we can always determine without question 
to which class a specific case of attention belongs. Quite the 
contrary. It appears that there is a gradual transition from 
one class to the other, through cases which partake of the 
characteristics of both forms. 

Thus, for example, we should have to admit the existence 
of many cases in which it would be all but impossible to say 
whether we were attending to certain subjects as the result of 
a definite purpose and an explicit effort to attend, or as the 
result of more or less unconscious mental drifting. "What 
shall one say, for instance, of the attention which is given to 
the routine duties of daily life? Some of them undoubtedly 
require definite, purposeful attention. Others enlist our 
spontaneous interest, require no effort and reveal little or no 
antecedent purpose to attend. Many others are surely on the 
border line, where it is not easy to say whether our attention 
is altogether due to spontaneous interest or to preconceived 
purpose. Meantime, we must admit that it is in voluntary 
attention that consciousness raises the human being into the 
greatest freedom from mere routine, with the greatest inde- 
pendence from mere temporary surroundings. 

(3) The true relation of involuntary attention to volun- 
tary and non-volimtary attention can hardly be understood 
without reference to the psychophysical organism as a whole. 
But fortunately we have all along taken this into account, 
and our present mention of it will mark no change in our 
point of view. 

So far as concerns such instances as those in which we are 
forced against our will, or at all events without our mental 
consent, to notice intense sensations, it would seem that in- 
voluntary attention must be fundamentally opposed to volun- 
tary attention at least, whatever might prove to be the case 
as regards non-voluntary attention. The one form of atten- 
tion expresses the will, the other either defies, or disregards. 



ATTENTION 9 1 

the will. Such differences certainly appear to be funda- 
mental; but we shall see reason to modify this view, when we 
consider that both forms of attention are vital functions 
which are brought out and developed in the general adaptive 
reaction of the organism to its social and physical surround- 
ings. If we remember that those objects which are harmful 
to us commonly stimulate the nerves very violently, we shall 
begin to see how in the general economy of the organism it 
may be useful to have our senses so constructed that they 
shall call our attention to such possible sources of danger as 
are represented by these intense stimuli, even when we do not 
consciously desire to have our quiet thus invaded. We shall 
begin to see that in the interests of the continuation of life 
and health it may be desirable that loud sounds and extreme 
temperatures, intense lights and violent odours, should have 
the power to elicit the attentive reactions from us, just as 
do the pains of over-fatigue and of diseased conditions of 
our bodily organs. In a sense, therefore, such reactions are 
instances of a kind of organic selection from among various 
movements of just those which shall result in our making 
momentary accommodation to the invading stimulus. If it 
prove really menacing, we may then take to flight, or adopt 
such other precautionary measures as the situation demands. 
If it be, in point of fact, innocuous or insignificant, our 
minds are left free to revert to the interrupted occupation. 
Involuntary attention of this kind represents, accordingly, 
the protest of the primarily physiological portion of the 
organism against a too complete subserviency to merely in- 
tellectual conscious processes. 

Involuntary attention is only involuntary when the mind 
is viewed in isolation from the body. It is a kind of spon- 
taneous bodily attention, and it is undoubtedly selective in a 
true enough sense. Moreover, even when viewed from the 
mental side alone, such attention could only properly be called 
involuntary, never passive. The term passive is quite mis- 



92 PSYCHOLOGY 

leading. Involuntary attention, once it is aroused, is just as 
genuinely a form of mental activity as is voluntary attention. 
Its antecedents, both mental and physical, are in part different 
and often its consequences are different too. But both opera- 
tions are mental acts, and neither of them can properly be 
designated in terms of pure passivity. 

Summarising Statement on the Forms of Attention. — 
In all forms of attention, then, we find selective activity 
revealed. Selection always implies a purposive, forward- 
looking type of action, and this is precisely what attention 
is in all its forms. It stands for the fact that the organism 
is teleological in its very constitution. That is to say, the 
organism contains within itself certain ends to be attained 
in course of development by adjustive activities. In part 
these ends exist imbedded in the physiological mechanisms, 
where they come to light as reflex, automatic, and instinc- 
tive acts, sometimes accompanied by consciousness; and 
in part they exist as conscious purposes, in which case they 
appear as recognised intentions. In spontaneous and volun- 
tary attention the psychological antecedents of the act are 
more conspicuous, in involuntary attention the physiological 
antecedents are more prominent. All three forms, however, 
involve as a matter of course both neural and psychical 
factors. Figure 34 indicates the genetic relations of the 
three forms of attention. 

SPONTANEOUS ATTENTION 



INVOLUNTARY VOLUNTARY 

Fig. 34. Showing genetic relations of forms of attention. 

Duration of Attention. — It is extremely difficult to secure 

reliable information as to the length of time we can and do 

attend to objects in non- voluntary and involuntary attention, 

for the conditions m these forms of attention are necessarily 



ATTENTION 93 

rery unfavourable to accurate introspection. But having dis- 
covered that the differences among the several forms of atten- 
tion are relative and not absolute, we may, perhaps, safely 
assume that the facts which we find in voluntary attention 
are fairly representative of the other forms, and these facts 
are fortunately rather easy to make out. All voluntary atten- 
tion displays a more or less rhythmic pulse, the duration of 
which varies considerably under different conditions. If we 
attempt to attend to a letter on this page, we shall find that 
we can only do this for a moment or two, unless we constantly 
observe something new about it. Otherwise we invariably 
find, either that the eye has moved away to something else, or 
that the mind has wandered off on to an entirely different 
subject. However constant the physical object may remain, 
to which we thus attend, we can only continue our attention 
to it provided we continually see it in some fresh fashion; 
provided, that is to say, that the mental object keeps changing. 
This seems to be a fundamental law of our mental life, and 
did space permit we might profitably enlarge at some length 
upon its implication. A few consequences we may properly 
pause to mention. 

A. Consequences of Change in the Focus of Attention. — 
Evidently change is the primal law of mental life, as well as 
of bodily life. Thought processes which cease to move, cease 
to exist. They simply go out. To keep a thought alive we 
must keep turning it over, keep doing something with it. 
Mental paralysis is mental death. It is a familiar experience 
with all of us, especially with students, that occasionally when 
a question is asked us our minds either become perfectly blank, 
or remain for a moment stupidly confronting the mere sound 
of the words addressed to us. In such a case the only salva- 
tion lies in doing something, doing almost anything is better 
than such quiescence. Often to begin speaking is sufficient to 
break the spell, however pointless our remarks may be. The 
act of speech starts up the cerebral machinery and presently, 



54 PSYCHOLOGY 

if we keep our composure, we get our thought once more in 
movement. Similarly, the boy told to think about what he is 
studying finds himself, in the effort to execute the injunction 
laid upon him, simply surveying the page before him with 
an apathetic gaze. He is merely exposing himself innocu- 
ously to the light waves proceeding from the page. Mentally 
he is either in a condition of partial asphyxiation, or his mind 
is off engaged upon something really of interest to him. He 
is not in any proper sense attending to the subject matter of 
his work at all. For such a youth the sole possibility of 
progress consists in taking the topic and forcing himself to 
turn it over, ask questions of it, examine it from new sides. 
Presently, even though such questions and inspections be very 
foolishly conceived, the subject will start into life, will begin 
to connect itself with things he already knows, will take 
its place in the general furniture of his mind ; and, if he takes 
the next and all but indispensable step,_ and actually puts his 
rudimentary information to some use, applies it to some prac- 
tical problem, incorporates it, perhaps, in an essay, or even 
talks about it with others, he will find he has acquired a real 
mental tool which he can use, and not simply a dead load 
which must be carried on his already aching back. 

What we call attending to a topic for a considerable period 
of time will, therefore, always be found to consist in attend- 
ing to changing phases of the subject, to ideas associated with 
it. Thus, to fix one's mind upon history for an hour or two 
will involve attending to hundreds of thoughts about the 
special historical subject, or problem, with which we are 
concerned. Accordingly, these instances of the practical con- 
tinuation of attention to a single subject strongly confirm 
our position, instead of contradicting it, as might seem at 
first sight to be the case. 

B. Why Attention Shifts. — It has been suggested that the 
rapid changes of attention are due primarily to fatigue in the 
delicate cortical cells which are connected with conscious proc- 



ATTENTION 95 

esses. Whether this statement be accepted or not, we gain a 
very significant suggestion in explanation of these changes, 
when we remember what the essential function of attention 
appears to be. We remarked at the outset that attention is 
simply a name for the operation of the central, and most 
active, portion of the field of consciousness. We have all 
along maintained that the real business of consciousness is to 
be sought amid the adaptive responses of the organism to its 
life conditions. We have also pointed out that, if this concep- 
tion be true at all, it is at the point of attention that we shall 
find the most obvious and important part of the adjusting 
activity in progress. Now, in the nature of the case, each 
particular act of adjustment must be of relatively brief dura- 
tion. In the case of common objects in the world of sensa- 
tions it consists as a rule merely in the recognition of the 
stimulus {e. g., as a colour, as a sound, as a book, or a word, 
etc.), with a motor response, wjiich consists, perhaps, in some 
movement of the eyes or head calculated either to bring to 
notice some new and useful phase of the stimulus, or to divert 
further attention altogether away from it. Thus we look, 
for instance, at a book, recognize it as the one for which we 
are searching, pick it up and proceed to examine it; in this 
way continuing the activity of attending to the book, but, as 
a matter of fact, continuing it in the form of attention to ever 
new features. The same sort of thing is true when our atten- 
tion is occupied with ideas, instead of with sensations. In 
short, so far as attention is really an activity of the relating, 
adjusting kind, its work is done when the relation between 
the mind and the thing attended to is once established. This 
is the mental, as distinct from the physiological, part of the 
adjustment; and attention must go elsewhere, because it is 
intrinsically the adjusting act itself, and other things are 
demanding of the organism the same energies of adjustment. 
To retain our attention for any considerable period an object 
must, therefore, by changing its aspect, present itself as a new 



96 PSYCHOLOGY 

object, to which fresh responses can be made. No doubt we 
find here the reason why painful objects are so imperious in 
their monopoly of our attention. They demand an adjust- 
ment which we are often unable to make successfully and 
attention consequently recurs to them again and again. 

Kange, or Scope, of Attention, — The question is often 
asked : How many things can we attend to at once ? Various 
answers have been given, some authorities maintaining that 
we can attend only to one object at a time, others insisting 
that we may attend to an indefinite number. We must sharply 
distinguish between the question in the form in which we 
have given it, and the question often, but erroneously, treated 
as synonymous with it, i. e., How many things can we do at 
one time? We have seen in the preceding chapter that there 
is literally no limit to the number of things we can learn to 
do at once. It is, in this latter case, simply a question of how 
elaborate we can make our .habitual motor activities. A 
skilled pianist, or a trained acrobat, may do dozens of things 
simultaneously. But the question of how many things we can 
attend to is much more puzzling. 

The differences of opinion upon the matter are, however, 
apparently due in the main to a failure to define with pre- 
cision the underlying mental conditions. It is the view here 
adopted, that we never have more than one mental object 
before the mind at any one moment. This object may be 
complex, or simple, but if it is really present in its entirety 
to consciousness, it is cognised mentally as a single thing. 
To illustrate, we may take the case of perceiving a table. If 
we examine introspectively the manner in which we are con- 
scious of such an object, when we allow the eyes to rest mo- 
mentarily upon it, we find that we perceive it as a complex 
single object; not as four legs, plus a top, plus a colour, plus 
a particular shape, etc. N"ow, these characteristics of a table 
which we have mentioned all correspond to distinguishable 
parts of it, and we might speak in a certain sense of having 



ATTENTION 97 

attended to all these circumstances at once. But this ■would 
be an injudicious mode of expression, tending to confuse oui 
ability to analyse the physical object, or our own conscious- 
ness of the object, with the fact of the manner in which we 
actually perceived it in our momentary glance. However 
many things, therefore, may be present to us at one moment, 
it seems probable that our consciousness is of all of them as 
a single mental object, which we may, nevertheless, imme- 
diately recognise as being complex in its constitution, mean- 
ing, and references. Indeed, we may go further, and say that 
in order to perceive an object as one, there must be some com- 
plexity in it, which we thus synthesise into a unit. A pure, 
undifferentiated conscious quality never does, and apparently 
never can, constitute the object of a cognising consciousness. 
Plurality is, in short, just as necessary for an object of atten- 
tion as unity; but our mental activity always gives the stamp 
of unification to these plural particulars. How many such 
particulars can be brought together in any one act of con- 
sciousness is a practical problem for experimental psychology. 

The various interesting experiments which have been per- 
formed to test the so-called scope of momentary consciousness 
must all be interpreted in the light of the foregoing consid- 
erations. Thus, we find that with momentary exposure we 
can cognise visually four or five letters, under proper condi- 
tions. When the letters make words the number which we 
can cognise in this instantaneous fashion quickly rises. It 
is possible to make the exposure time so short that we cannot 
perceive anything with certainty. As the duration of the 
exposure is lengthened, we soon reach a point where we can 
feel our attention rapidly shifting to take in serially two or 
more groups of the letters or words. Similar experiments 
have been made with sensations other than those of vision 
with results differing in detail but similar in the principles 
involved. To these facts we shall revert in another chapter. 

Some sensations, which have become thoroughly dissociated 



gS PSYCHOLOGY 

from one another, seemingly refuse to come together at all 
into simultaneous objects. Thus, experiments have been made 
which render it altogether problematic whether we can attend 
to a sound and a colour simultaneously. We hear the sound 
and then the attention oscillates to the colour, or vice versa. 
The same thing is true of sensations of contact, when con- 
joined with either sound or colour. On the other hand, 
fusions of two kinds of sensations, like those of taste and 
smell, are of course always attended to as simultaneous. They 
are not sensed as two. 

Inattention and Scattered, or Dispersed, Attention. — Inat- 
tention is often spoken of as though it were a positive mental 
condition, just like attention. As a matter of fact inattention 
to any subject simply means attention to some other subject. 
In school-children of various ages this condition is often 
exasperating to the last degree. Its cause, however, is not the 
absolute loss of attention, but the direction of it into some 
forbidden but attractive channel. Wandering, or sporadic, 
attention also is never, properly speaking, the negative of 
attention. It is simply the unstable, flitting, inefficient form 
of it. This condition is sometimes spoken of as scattered 
attention, and, when not due to actual mental disease, is cer- 
tainly attributable, if long continued, to bad mental surround- 
ings, i. e., surroundings which neither encourage nor give 
scope for the expression of native and normal interests. It 
is proper enough to speak of the marginal part of the field 
of consciousness and of the unemphasized aspects of the focal 
part as belonging to the region of inattention, but such ex- 
pressions must be understood as marking differences of de- 
gree in attentiveness, not a radical distinction in the kind of 
process concerned. 

Dispersed attention is another much abused term. To have 
one's attention completely dispersed would be to become 
unconscious. The conditions properly describable by this 
term are illustrated in the general lowering of our mental 



ATTENTION 99 

alertness when we become drowsy. Mental distinctions of 
all kinds tend, under such circumstances, to become blurred 
and indefinite. The state is one of fading attention. Never- 
theless, as long as we are conscious at all, we are always more 
clearly aware of some part of the field of thought than we are 
of the remainder. Our attention is never distributed evenly 
over the whole of the conscious field. If it ever were thus 
distributed, completely dispersed attention would, indeed, be 
realised. 

Motor Accompaniments of Attention. — It will be remem- 
bered that in our account of the nervous system we mentioned 
the existence of evidence tending to show the importance of 
the association areas of the frontal lobes for the higher 
forms of mental process involving concentration of attention. 
In our description of attention thus far, we have also made 
occasional reference to the part played by sense organs and 
brain; but this has been somewhat incidental, and we have 
hardly noticed at all the conspicuous position of muscular 
activities. To bring out the significant facts bearing on these 
matters it will be convenient to avail ourselves temporarily 
of another common classification of attentive processes, dif- 
fering from that which we have employed. This is the 
division of attention as sensory, or ideational; a division 
which certain of our illustrations have involved. All atten- 
tion to objects stimulating the sense organs, every process, 
therefore, of sensation and perception, involves sensory atten- 
tion. All attention to ideas, images, thoughts, etc., is idea- 
tional attention. The first type of activity involves both 
sense organ and brain, whereas the second type involves irmne- 
diately only the brain. 

A. In Sensory Attention.— In normal sensory attention 
muscular movements seem always to be concerned. These 
movements are accommodatory, and are calculated to put 
the sense organs in the best attitude to receive distinct im- 
pressions from the objects stimulating them. In vision, for 



lOO PSYCHOLOGY 

example, if we see to best advantage, the eyes in;ust converge 
upon the objects at which we are looking, the lenses must be 
accommodated to the distance of the object, and oftentimes 
the head must be turned, in order to permit the most effective 
visual operation. In hearing, we similarly tend to turn the 
head toward the source of the sound, or at all events, to 
turn in that direction the more sensitive of our ears. In 
taste, we press against the substance in the mouth with the 
tongue in order to detect most fully its flavour. In smelling, 
we inhale in order to bring the odorous particles against the 
olfactory membrane at the upper part of the nasal cavity. In 
touch, we explore the object with the hand, if we desire ac- 
curate information of its tactual characteristics. We find 
a similar state of things true, as regards all our sensations, 
when we make them the object of direct attention. 

Each of these cases illustrates the function of the sensory- 
motor circuit. The light rays falling upon the retina set up 
currents in sensory nerves, which are transmitted to cells in 
control of the muscles of the eyes; and these cells in turn 
send out impulses, which result in convergence and accommo- 
dation. In some cases the sensory impulse may originate in 
a cortical centre, or in a sense-organ other than that which 
experiences the modifications of the accommodatory move- 
ment. Thus, the hand may be moved in response to an idea, 
or in response to a stimulus from the eye, arid not from the 
skin of the hand itself. 

B. In Ideational Attention. — Psychologists have observed 
a similar kind of muscular accommodation when our atten- 
tion is directed to intellectual processes. Thus, if we close our 
eyes and attempt to get a visual mental picture of some 
particular place, it will generally be found that the eyes 
tend to turn in the supposed direction of the imagined local- 
ity. In attempting to recall an odour we almost inevitably 
make slight movements of inhalation. In calling up images 
of taste the tongue moves and salivation is stimulated. 



ATTENTION lot 

Furthermore;, the effort to fix our attention firmly upon any 
train of thought is generally accompanied by a strong ten- 
dency to assume some specific bodily attitude, in which we 
somewhat unconsciously seek to prevent the distraction of 
our attention by outside disturbances. In this effort the 
brows are often wrinkled, the breathing impeded, the body 
bent over and held rigid, the hands clenched, the head tilted 
in this way or that. The attitudes which we thus assume 
evidently share with the sense-organ accommodations already 
mentioned, the function of putting the organism in the most 
advantageous position for meeting the special demand mo- 
mentarily laid upon it. Indeed, many of these attitudes are 
characteristic of all attentive process whether sensory or 
ideational. The psychophysical effort at concentration over- 
flows in movements calculated to assist in reaching the desired 
end. The actual value of these movements probably varies 
greatly, and depends (1) upon their success in eliminating, 
or neutralising, the effect of the disturbing stimuli from 
without; and (2) in their contribution, through their corti- 
cal effects, toward the continuation of the ongoing activity. 
Thus, if more nervous energy is being liberated than can 
be properly disposed of by the pathways of discharge involved 
in the special matter in hand, these overflow motor pathways 
may be called in to take care of the excess of neural activity, 
and so indirectly further the ongoing occupation. 

C. Involuntary Muscular Processes and Attention. — 
Experiments show that the involuntary muscular processes, 
such as those of respiration and circulation, also reflect the 
changes in attention. T\Tien attention is much perturbed, 
they display rapid and relatively violent oscillations. When, 
on the other hand, attention moves along smoothly, these 
motor reactions are also stable. Extensive investigations have 
also been made to establish the correlation of certain fixed 
forms of circulatory and respiratory activities with voluntary 
and involuntary attention respectively. The results are too 



102 PSYCHOLOGY 

complex and too imperfectly confirmed to justify description 
here. 

Sensory Indices of Motor Attitudes in Attention. — 

The motor activities which accompany processes of attention 
necessarily, at least in the case of the voluntary muscles, send 
back toward the cortex sensory impulses, which may then 
enter into the general field of consciousness to modify its com- 
plexion and tone. These are sometimes spoken of as the 
"strain sensations" of attention. It seems probable that 
there is a small group which characterises in some measure 
all attention, and that the use of any special sense, or any 
special form of ideational process, involves another specific 
and relatively constant group. The intensity of these sensa- 
tions necessarily varies widely from time to time, and is com- 
monly greatest in cases of intense voluntary attention. The 
muscles most regularly and most obviously affected are those 
of the face, throat, and chest, although the hand and other 
parts of the body may be involved. The breathing move- 
ments are almost sure to be involved in cases of vigorous 
attention. 

Dr. Gordon has suggested another interesting explanation 
of the function of these strain sensations. It is possible 
that in attempting, for example, to force our attention along 
some mentally difficult path, we primarily crave more ner- 
vous excitement and stimulation, more push a tergo; and 
these muscular activities setting up definite sensory im- 
pulses, which return to the cortex, may possibly furnish this 
needed help. It may well be that all these accounts of the 
motor aspects of attention are correct. After what has been 
said it is, perhaps, unnecessary to insist that motor processes 
are bound up in an inextricable way with the movements of 
attention, both as leading up to its effective activity and as 
secondary consequences of its operation. The idea of the 
sensory-motor circuit proves to be radically implicated, there- 
fore, in every form of conscious action. 



ATTENTION 1 03 

Genetic Features of Attention. — All the evidence which 
we can command, coming in part from the examination of 
our own mental operations as adults, and in part from ob- 
serving how children deal with the objects about them, points 
to the notion that the active portion of the field of con- 
sciousness is from the very first given over to the double 
process of pulling apart and putting together the various ele- 
ments of experience. These two processes are commonly 
known as dissociation and association. It seems to be fairly 
certain that at the outset of life consciousness is extremely 
vague and crude in its organisation. To begin with, there 
is, perhaps, no definite distinction felt between the various 
kinds of sensations, visual, auditory, tactual, etc. Certainly 
the process of distinguishing the various kinds of sensory 
qualities within the range of any given sense series — like 
the spectral colours in the field of vision — is quite slow in 
developing. The various colours are undoubtedly distinguished 
from one another very imperfectly even up to a late period 
in childhood. The discrimination of differences in form 
definitely antedates this ability to recognise colour distinc- 
tions and in cases of arrested development the latter may 
never be acquired satisfactorily even though the former is 
relatively normal. ISTevertheless, after the first moment of 
consciousness the mind is constantly at work, splitting up 
experiences which previously were felt as simple, and bring- 
ing about an increasingly definite awareness of the several 
distinguishable qualities within them. The analytical activ- 
ity disclosed in attention is what we called above dissociation, 
or discrimination. Although we shall have a great deal to 
say about it under other titles further on in the book, we 
must glance at some of its more conspicuous features here. 

II— DISCEIMINATION AND ASSOCIATION 
Analytic Aspect of Attention: Discrimination. — When 



I04 PSYCHOLOGY 

the different distinguishable elements of any state of con- 
sciousness blend with one another, so that they lose their in- 
dividuality, we speak of the resulting condition as a case of 
fusion. Thus, the partial tones in a piano note are generally 
lost to us as separate sounds, and we seem to hear only a 
single musical tone. Similarly, when we grasp a book we 
seldom distinguish the sensations of pressure from those of 
temperature and tendinous strain. These sensations fuse. 
Again, the sensations which we get when eating onions, or 
when drinking coffee, we commonly speak of as being tastes. 
In point of fact, they largely depend for their characteristic 
quality upon smell sensations, which fuse with the tastes and 
in consequence are entirely overlooked by us. This can 
readily be proved by stopping the nostrils when the substances 
are taken into the mouth. The effect of a severe cold in the 
head in depriving us of our sense of taste is really largely 
attributable to its influence on the membranes of the nose. 
Now, it seems probable that the original tendencies of all 
sensory stimuli, which impinge upon our sense organs simul- 
taneously, is to fuse in just this same fashion; so that were 
it not for this discriminative activity which we are describing, 
we might remain oblivious to much of the complexity of the 
objective world. 

Undoubtedly the compelling motive to such discrimination 
is in the first instance the necessity for practical control over 
objects. If we could deal with objects successfully while 
disregarding differences of colour and form and size, dis- 
crimination would fail to develop. But this of course is not 
the case. The situation is similar to that noticed in the last 
chapter where we found gross general movements splitting up 
into finer and more precise ones. Meantime, it must not be 
overlooked that once we have succeeded in analysing some of 
these originally fusing qualities, we may find their distinct- 
ness and separateness enhanced by being experienced simul- 
taneously. Colours, like black and white, red and green, may 



ATTENTION loj 

gain in definiteness and individuality by the contrast effects 
of juxtaposition. 

Primary Conditions of Discrimination. — However it may 
be in later life, there can be no question that during the 
first year or two the great agent in furthering discrimi- 
nation is the change in the objective stimuli, which affect 
the sense organs from moment to moment. Thus, sounds 
sometimes occur simultaneously with stimulations of colour, 
and sometimes they do not. Stimulations of red sometimes 
occur together with stimulations of blue, and sometimes 
with white. These changes in the mode of sensory stimu- 
lation necessarily 
produce different 

forms of cortical re- ., , . , „ 

0) ( ST ) =1 Q 

action; and, as con- 
sciousness is condi- 
tioned by these 
cortical activities, 
we have thus a ( tk ) =2Q==i+x 




O 



(2) ::=z = 2 Q 





basis for different ^ ^ =t+s.+j<=»3Q 

states of conscious- / ^ 



ness. That we are 
able to recognize 
the fact that one 



= 2(2=S+X 



Fig. 35. 



state of consciousness differs from a second, and is like 
a third, is an ultimate fact which we cannot further explain. 
All psychologists agree that this is a fundamental attribute 
of consciousness, and, so far as concerns the conditions 
under which we actually come in the first instance to attain 
this awareness of differences, the description we have just 
given seems to represent the undoubted facts. We can put 
the matter diagrammatically, as in figure 35. So long as a 
certain taste sensation T, and a certain smell sensation S, 
are always given us together, we fail to note the complexity 
of the sensation, and we experience (1) a fusion possessing 



lo6 PSYCHOLOGY 

a single quality, 1 Q. When, however, (2) the sensation T, 
or the sensation >S'^ is given alone, or (3) in combination with 
some oilier quality, we may, when the complex TB is again 
experienced, discern the two qualities — ^Q, i. e., T and 8. 
In experiencing either TX or SX we shall also be in a posi- 
tion to discriminate X. In each case we have, by varying 
the concomitants, produced a new psychophysical condition, 
in part different from and in part like its predecessors, and 
in this way we have provided the prerequisites for the analysis 
of compounds. 

Evidently, if these are the preconditions of our original 
capacity for the dissociating process, any device which facili- 
tates the arousal of different nervous conditions will assist 
us in making our discriminations. Submitting objects to 
successive, instead of simultaneous, inspection produces a 
maximum of nervous difference; and we find accordingly 
that if we wish, for example, to detect the heavier of two 
objects of nearly equal weight, we judge most accurately when 
we lift them immediately in succession. If we wish to tell 
whether or no two colours match, we let the eye pass rapidly 
from one to the other, etc. Of course, when the objects 
stimulate different sense organs there is already considerable 
difference in the nervous processes resulting, and to dis- 
criminate among them it is only necessary to let either sense 
be stimulated independently. The use of words has been 
shown experimentally to assist in discrimination in cases in- 
volving memory, e. g., when we attempt to remember and 
identify colours, if we can assign them definite names, our 
task is much facilitated. The kind of discrimination, or 
comparison, which occurs among ideas in the higher pro- 
cesses of reflection, reasoning, etc., we shall consider at 
a later point. The form of dissociation which we have de- 
scribed clearly underlies the higher form, because it is con- 
cerned with our primary analysis into its rudimentary 
features of the world as we first know it- 



ATTENTION I07 

Synthetic Features of Attention: Simultaneous Associa- 
tion. — Hand in hand with these dissociative, analyticaJ, 
activities is to be found a synthetic process, "which serves to 
unite the various dissevered elements, and to which the name 
association is commonly given. In a logical sense, one phase 
of this associative process really precedes and underlies the 
dissociative activity; for it is evident that if we are to dif- 
ferentiate the two qualities A and B from one another, they 
must already be associated in some kind of fusion such as we 
have just been describing. Thus, to distinguish the colour 
white from the colovir black upon this printed page involves 
not only that the black and the white objects shall be side by 
side in the space before me, but also that they shall in a way 
be together in my mind. 

It is clear that every act of attention must involve in 
some degree both discrimination and this form of "simul- 
taneous association.'^ We may, for example, remark that 
the colours upon a postage stamp are red and white. Such 
an act is evidently one of discrimination. But it is also 
quite as truly one of association, for the qualities must be 
experienced together, must be mentally synthesised, that this 
special kind of discrimination may occur at all. 

It has already been stated that when sensations are expe- 
rienced in forms where they blend in such a way as to lose 
something of their individuality, e. g., the partial tones of a 
violin note, psychologists sometimes speak of the simultaneous 
association involved as a fusion. When the conscious complex 
emphasises the individuality of its components or leaves this 
unimpaired, as often occurs in the perception of colours, it is 
by certain authors called a colligation.'^ Mental images and 
ideas show the same sort of differentiation in this particular 
as do sensations. 

*Tlie term complication is sometimes applied to combinations 
involving elements from different senses. We shall mention these 
cases in our study of perception. 



io8 PSYCHOLOGY 

Successive Association. — There is another form of associa- 
tioiij known i\s successive association, a term which is com- 
monly restricted to the sequence of our ideas as they pass 
through the mind. We shall discuss it in connection with 
imagery and the higher cognitive functions. Even this kind 
of association of ideas, however, evidently involves discrimi- 
nation; for the ideas must be noticed as different, in order 
that they may be separate ideas at all. And conversely, so 
far as we remark differences in successive moments of con- 
sciousness, we must admit the presence of associative factors 
of some kind or other, uniting the several temporally distinct 
contents of consciousness with one another. 

Generalising, then, we may say that attention involves both 
a synthetic and an analytic activity. Sometimes our primary 
purpose and interest in attending is to analyse and discrim- 
inate, but we cannot accomplish this without simultaneously 
employing association. And similarly, although we may be 
ostensibly engaged in connecting, or associating, the various 
items of our experience with one another, the execution of 
our task inevitably involves us in discrimination. 



CHAPTER V 

SENSATION 

Elementary Sensory Processes. — The first step in the 
activity of the sensory-motor circuit, which represents, as 
we have seen, the unit of action in the nervous system, is 
the sensory stimulation. This stimulation is reported in con- 
sciousness as a sensation, at which point we shall accordingly 
begin our detailed study of the various portions of our psycho- 
logical processes.* 

Our task as psychologists requires that we study each of 
the great groups of sensation in order to detect its intrinsic 
psychical peculiarities. This will bring to our notice, begin- 
ning with the more rudimentary senses, cutaneous, organic, 
kinaesthetic, gustatory, olfactory, auditory and visual sen- 
sations. We must analyse these as far as we can into their 
elementary qualities and attempt to discover the relations of 
these qualities to one another. We shall notice in each case 
the more important of the known physical and physiological 
facts upon which the sensations depend. Toward the end 
of the chapter we shall describe the function of sensation 
and consider a distinction which psychologists make between 
sensation and perception, both of which are sensory pro- 
cesses. 

Our undertaking will necessarily involve our examining 

*Some psychologists regard the feelings of pleasure and pain a3 
even more primordial than sensation in this primitive sensory-motor 
activity of the organism. Be this as it may, we shall find it 
practically more convenient to examine the cognitive functions of 
the organism first; that is to say, those which inform us most 
definitely of objects, including our own bodies. 



no PSYCHOLOGY 

various aspects of consciousness one at a time, and we must 
unavoidably turn our backs temporarily on most of the proc- 
esses, apart from the special one we are for the moment 
engaged in studying. We must bear contantly in mind, there- 
fore, this partial and tentative mode of procedure, remember- 
ing that the mind, which we thus analyse piecemeal, is in 
point of fact a real unit. 

It will assist us to gain a proper appreciation of the sig- 
nificance of sensation to remark at the outset certain facts 
about the evolution of sense organs. 

The Evolution of Sense Organs. — That it may be put into 
the most delicate and complete accord with the world in which 
it is placed, the organism must be capable of responding to 
the various objects found therein. To this end we find the 
sense organs so devised that they may give information about 
the most widely differing kinds of physical existence. Each 
form of sensation which we possess is apparently connected 
with the activity of a specially constituted receiving ap- 
paratus. In some cases this apparatus Is extremely complex^ 
as in the eye for example ; in other instances it is very simple, 
as in the ease of the so-called pain nerves of which we shall 
speak in a moment. These end-organs are connected with 
special parts of the cerebral cortex which they incite to 
activity. These cortical connections we examined in Chap- 
ter II. 

There seems to be no doubt that even very simple forms of 
organism are sensitive in a rude way to most, if not all, of the 
types of sensory stimuli to which human beings respond, e. g., 
light, sound, mechanical impact, etc. This is simply another 
way of saying that protoplasm itself is sensitive to these 
modes of stimulation. But so far as concerns the develop- 
ment of definitely differentiated sense organs, specially de- 
vised to receive particular modes of sensory stimuli, the facts 
seem to indicate great irregularity and wide variation among 
different organic forms. The kinds of sensitivity which are 



SENSATION III 

most certainly and regularly present in the lower orders cor- 
respond most nearly to the human cutaneous sensations of 
touch, pain, and temperature. But beyond such a statement 
as this, we are hardly in a position to offer any definite out- 
line of sensory development. Not a few animal forms well 
up in the scale of organisms seem to possess sense organs 
unknown to man, the nature of whose functions we can, 
therefore, only speculate about. Moreover, when we come 
to animals on the level of the birds and quadrupeds, we come 
upon astonishing anomalies. For example, it seems possible 
that some birds are essentially destitute of the sense of smell. 
At all events they make little or no use of it. This is said 
to be true of vultures. On the other hand, certain dogs 
seem to live in a world in which smell probably plays a 
predominant part. Speaking generally, advance to any high 
level of intelligence is accompanied by an increasing prom- 
inence of vision and hearing, and a decreasing prominence 
for the rest of the sensations. This fact seems to be largely 
due to the superior richness and flexibility of the material 
supplied by these two senses for elaboration into ideational 
processes. Moreover, these senses are the ones which afford 
most detailed and accurate information of objects at a dis- 
tance — an important consideration in developing organisms. 
Smell is their only rival in this particular, and for purposes 
of general orientation, as regards prey, or dangerous animal 
foes, is made large use of by many wild creatures. 

We are now ready to pass to a detailed consideration of the 
several sensations. 

Analysis of Cutaneous Sensations. — From the skin we obtain 
as the rudimentary qualities of sensation, cold, warmth, pain, 
and pressure. Certain psychologists maintain that heat — 
commonly thought of as merely intense warmth — is quali- 
tatively distinct from warmth and depends upon the simul- 
taneous stimulation of both warmth and cold. It is from this 
viewpoint in reality a fusion, whether it be so sensed or not. 



112 PSYCHOLOGY 

The evidence for our statement, as to the elementary quali- 
ties of the cutaneous sensations, consists in the careful ex- 
amination of every kind of psychical experience which we 
can obtain from the stimulation of the skin. These stimu- 
lations can be produced by mechanical impact — either push- 
ing or pulling — by certain chemicals, such as the acids, by 
electricity, and by temperatures distinctly above or below that 
of the skin itself. 

At first, it may seem that we have many other elementary 
qualities peculiar to cutaneous reactions. Thus, it is com- 
mon in the older text-books to see such asserted sensations 
as hardness, softness, wetness, dryness, active and passive 
touch, sharpness, smoothness, roughness, etc., referred to the 
skin. It is true, of course, that these several impressions 
originate in the skin. But they are quite certainly either 
compounds of pressure with some of the other sensations 
already mentioned, or else mere modifications of pressure it- 
self. Thus, if one heat a drop of water to the exact tempera- 
ture of the sldn, and then place it on the hand, it will prove 
very difficult to imagine any sensation caused by it other 
than pressure. Similarly, if a hard and a soft object be made 
thermally indifferent, and both be laid very gently against 
the skin, pressure will be the only sensation confidently felt. 
As the intensity of the pressure increases, the difference will 
be remarked. But hardness simply means more intense 
pressure, plus, on most occasions, certain sensations of effort, 
resistance, or strain, which come from muscles, or tendons, 
and not from the skin. And so with the other experiences 
suggested above. When carefully examined, they will all 
be found capable . of resolution itto pressure, or pressure 
and some other sensation, like that of temperature, or ten- 
dinous strain. ^ 

Itching, tickling, and creepy sensations of the skin prob- 
ably originate at times from the effects of circulatory changes 
upon the dermal end-organs. Occasionally, however, they 



SENSATION 113 

are due to very light pressure stimulations. The creepy feel- 
ing is often a complex of the prickly pain sensations with 
cold sensations. There seems no reason to postulate any new 
elementary forms of sense experience because of these reactions. 

If one takes a cool blunt-pointed object, like a knitting 
needle, and explores gently some portion of the skin, such 
as the back of the hand, it will be found that at certain 
points there flashes out a distinct sensation of cold. At 
other spots nothing but pressure will be felt and if the impact 
be very gentle, not a few places will be found from which 
no sensation at all is gotten. If the point be slightly warmed, 
a similar series of occasional warmth sensations will be 
elicited. If a fine broom straw or horse hair be substituted 
for the knitting needle and the explorations be continued 
with a gentle pressure, many spots will yield a distinct cut- 
ting pain sensation. From other spots a somewhat dull sen- 
sation of pressure will be noted and from still others, the so- 
called 'pressure spots,' will issue a sensation described by 
many persons as feeling like a grain of sand caught beneath 
the skin. This sensation is reported by certain observers to 
be less simple in composition than the others. It is some- 
what like a combination of mild pain with pressure. The 
dull sensations are held to be simply dim, faint sensations 
from neighbouring 'pressure spots.' Under moderate stimu- 
lation, then, the skin appears as a delicate mosaic of sensitive 
and insensitive points. 

The temperature sensations can be produced by electrical 
stimulation, and by tapping upon the skin with an object 
which is thermally indifferent. Moreover, sensations of cold 
are sometimes gotten from stimulation with objects slightly 
warm. These are the 'paradox' sensations of von Frey. Such 
facts would evidently seem to indicate the existence of some 
special organs for these particular sensations. These organs 
when stimulated would always respond with a specific sensa- 
tion, regardless of the nature of the stimulus. The funda- 




114 PSYCHOLOGY 

mental peculiarity of the temperature sense is its ability to 
effect accommodations to changes in the objective tem- 
perature. The air feels cold 
when we first go out-doors on 
a winter day, but presently 
we cease to notice it. We 
accommodate to it. No wholly 
satisfactory explanation o f 
this capacity of the tempera- 
ture nerves has been found. 
Fig. 36. C, cold spots; H, hot ^. ^n -, -i 

spots. (McKendrick and Figure 36 shows a rude map 
Snodgrass after Gold- of the temperature spots, which 
scheider.) , n ,^ 

are less numerous than the 

pressure spots and much less numerous than those respond- 
ing with pain. 

Naturally, it often happens that the various sorts of sensi- 
tive spots (pain, pressure and thermal) are very close to- 
gether, so that it is frequently possible to secure several kinds 
of sensations from what is apparently one and the same spot. 
Furthermore, it is broadly speaking true that if the stimu- 
lus be made very intense, any portion of the cutaneous sur- 
face will respond with the appropriate sensation. But the 
widest variations of sensitivity are encountered. Upon the 
cornea even the gentlest contact is likely to be painful; 
whereas there is an area upon the inner surface of the cheek 
which is said to be quite insensitive to the prick of a needle. 

Neural Basis of the CTitaneous Sensations. — The facts 
about the cutaneous end-organs have been strangely difficult 
to determine and the statements made in this section are 
in large part frankly conjectural. They represent, however, 
the best opinion at this time. It may be that the structures 
pictured as receptive organs are in reality merely protective 
or something of that kind. They are found in the skin and 
mucous membranes. (See figure 37.) 

The sensations of touch or contact probably come from the 



SENSATION 115 

stimulation of minute structures in the dermis — the true 
skin — (tigure 37C, E), and from nerves ending about the 



HJ^ 




Fig. 37. A, a diagrammatic cross section of the skin showing E. L., 
the horny layer of the epidermis, C. L., the clear layer, G. L., the 
granular layer, M. L., the mucous layer, P. L., the papillary 
layer, forming the outer border of the dermis ; N. E., nerve 
endings, and N. T., the trunks of the nerves. B, diagrammatic 
cross section of the skin showing a hair and the nerve winding 
about its base; H., the hair; E. L., horny layer of the epi- 
dermis; 2V., nerve trunk with terminals, T., about the base of 
the hair. G, a tactile corpuscle of Meissner. AX., the axonic 
processes wrapping about the tissue of the corpuscle. A. C, 
naked axis cylinders. D, end-bulb of Krause. AX., axones 
entering the bulb; N. F., naked axone fibres; T. C, so-called 
touch cells; C. T., connective tissue of the skin. E, Pacinian 
corpuscle; AX., axone entering the corpuscle with axis cylinder 
terminations at A. C; G. T., connective tissue. F, Ruffini's 
nerve endings; AX., axones; T. 0., terminal organs; G. T., con- 
nective tissue. O, termination of sensory nerve in tendon; 
AX., axone; T., tendon; T. 0., terminal organs. (Modified from 
Cunningham, Retzius, Morris and Toldt.) 

roots of the hair (figure 37B). Sensations of cold prob- 
ably originate from organs in the skin, such as are shown in 



Il6 PSYCHOLOGY 

figure 37D, It is possible that sensations of warmth come 
from the stimulation of special structures, such as are shown 
in figure 37F; and in the epidermis (the tough outer layer of 
the skin), as well as elsewhere, are found the so-called free 
nerve endings, i. e., nerve fibres which become much attenuated 
and terminate without contact with any special end-organ 
(figure 15A). The stimulation of these fibres in the epi- 
dermis is believed to produce the cutting, smarting, burning 
sensations of physical pain, which must not be confused with 
the experience of mere disagreeableness.* 

It is not necessary to repeat in detail what was said in 
chapter II about the central conduction pathways for these 
forms of sensory excitation, nor to describe again their cortical 
centres in the region posterior to Eolando. 

Genetic Features of Cutaneous Sensations. — The touch, 
pain, and temperature apparatus in the nervous system is 
fairly complete at birth. The dependence — at least partial — 
of the delicacy of the action of the cutaneous senses upon the 
richness of the supply of nerve endings is suggested by the 
fact that children have a finer and more accurate sense of 
touch than adults. In the child there are practically as many 

* Drs. Head, Rivers and Sherren of London have recently published 
the results of some interesting experiments on the manner in which 
sensitivity is restored to the skin and underlying regions, after sec- 
tion of the sensory nerves. Their results do not bring evidence of 
any new sense qualities, but may well necessitate a revision of our 
ideas about the psychological and anatomical relations represented 
in the cutaneous senses. They find that the afferent fibres may be 
divided into three groups. ( 1 ) Those which "subserve deep sensi- 
bility and conduct the impulse by pressure." The fibres of this sys- 
tem run chiefly in conjunction with motor fibres and are not affeeted 
by section of the sensory nerves to the skin. They enable accurate 
localization of vigorour pressure stimuli. (2) A system of fibres 
("protopathic") which respond to painful cutaneous stimuli and to 
extremes of temperature. They may be stimulated also by moving 
the hairs. They recover their functions relatively rapidly after sec- 
tion of the sensory nerves. (3) A system of fibres ("epicritic") 
which respond to very light touch stimuli and convey the power to 
discriminate stimuli accurately with reference to their size, shape, 
intensity, etc., as the other fibre systems do not, These fibres re- 
generate slowly after section. 



SENSATION 117 

nerve endings for any given area of the skin as in the adult. 
But in the adult these nerves have to supply a much larger 
area, owing to the spreading of the skin through growth. 
The difference is most marked on surfaces not regularly used 
for touching, e. g., the back of the arm. 

Kinaesthetic Sensation Qualities. — Closely connected with 
the skin sensations are the kinaesthetic sensations, some- 
times classified as organic sensations. When one lifts a 
heavy weight there is quickly noticeable, over and above the 
pressure sensation in the hand, a feeling of strain in the 
arm. When the hand is firmly clasped, this strain is also 
detectable. This sensation without doubt is largely referable 
to the tendons. There is also undoubtedly a muscle sensa- 
tion. But without experimental appliances it is hardly pos- 
sible introspectively to isolate the sensation from the 
cutaneous and tendinous sensations which accompany it, 
except in the case of moderate muscular fatigue. The sensa- 
tion which arises under such conditions of fatigue is the 
specific sensation concerned. The joints, too, are contributors 
to this group of sensations, if not directly on their own ac- 
count, then indirectly through their effect upon the tendons. 
Certainly we are extremely sensitive to their movements. 
But there is some difference of expert opinion as to the 
anatomical and physiological facts involved. The sensation 
which is experienced when v/e attempt to isolate the joint 
activity is strikingly like ordinary pressure. This isolation 
can be accomplished with sufficient accuracy by attaching 
a heavy weight to a cord, and then, while holding the cord, 
allowing the weight to sink rapidly to the ground. At the 
moment when it strikes, one feels a sort of "snap-back" sen- 
sation in the joints. Movement of particular parts of the 
body obviously constitutes the normal stimulus to these sen- 
sations. We notice them almost as distinctly when the parts 
are moved for us, as when we move them ourselves. 

Neural Basis of the Kinaesthetic Senses. — It is known 



Il8 PSYCKOLOGY 

that sensory nerves are connected with muscle tissues and 
with the tendons. They are very numerous about the joints. 
The methods of termination are sufficiently similar to those 
already described in connection with the skin to render a 
detailed description superfluous. See figure 37G for sketch 
of a nerve ending in a tendon. The cortical centres which 
receive impulses from these nerves are no doubt chiefly in 
the Eolandic region, presumably posterior to the fissure. 

Organic Sensations. — The respiratory and circulatory pro- 
cesses produce certain sensory experiences closely akin to the 
cutaneous ones, e, g., the sensation of "closeness" in the air, 
perhaps, comes from a genuine intra-thoracic sensation. The 
sexual organs have a specific sensory quality, and the alimen- 
tary tract gives rise to the experiences of nausea, thirst, and 
hunger. It may, perhaps, be questioned whether these last 
experiences are not resolvable into other simpler constituent 
sensation qualities, in which pressure and pain, for example, 
possibly play a part, and with which the affective factors of 
pleasantness and unpleasantness are markedly connected. But 
the disposition among psychologists seems on the whole to be in 
favour of regarding them as real sensations, with probably 
some specific end-organ, although the case is far from clear. 

Pain itself is often ranked as an organic sensation. The 
pains from the viscera and other deep lying organs must cer- 
tainly be recognised in addition to the cutaneous pains 
already mentioned, however they be classified. The massive 
agony of certain of these pains contrasts strikingly with the 
ordinary experiences of dermal pain. Moreover, we occasion- 
ally experience pressure and temperature sensations from 
the internal surfaces of the body and such sensations should 
then be designated organic. 

Properly speaking, the term 'organic sensation' applies to 
such sensations as report changes in bodily organs by which 
changes they are caused. The kinsesthetic sensations should 
strictly be grouped here. But they have functions so im- 



SENSATION 119 

portant for general conscious process as to render it judicious 
to mention them separately. We have used the term 'organic 
sensation^ to designate those sensations which indicate most 
distinctly the progress of the vital internal affairs of the 
organism. We shall notice one group of sensations which 
forms a transition from the kinsesthetic to the organic class, 
i. e., the static sensations. 

When the whole body is moved, as occurs in a train or an 
elevator, we receive a distinct group of sensations which, quite 
apart from vision, report the fact of translation. If the body 
is whirled, we obtain the sensations of dizziness and dis- 
turbed equilibrium. Dizziness may of course be produced 
in many other ways, e. g., by being on high places, by seeing 
objects in very rapid movement about us, 'and so on. 

Neural Factors in Organic Sensation. — Our present 
knowledge of the end-organ arrangements of the sensations 
from the vital organs is rather too fragmentary and the sub- 
ject as a whole rather too complex to warrant discussion and 
detailed exposition here. Speaking broadly, impulses from 
the sensory nerves of this group probably reach the cerebral 
cortex in the region immediately posterior to the fissure of 
Eolando. The static sensations have been referred to the 
semicircular canals of the internal ear, which it will be more 
convenient to study in connection with sensations of hearing. 
It is questioned by competent authority whether they con- 
tribute to our sense of translocation of the body, except when 
the movement is of a whirling character. It is at least cer- 
tain that many other organs contribute to these sensations, 
notably the eyes and the viscera. We do not naturally refer 
the sensations to the semicircular canals. We simply find 
our equilibrium disturbed without localising the organ re- 
sponsible for the sensation. Undoubtedly the cerebellum par- 
ticipates in the control of equilibratory movements and 
consequently in their misbehaviour. 

The dualities of Taste Sensations. — There are, without 



ISO 



PSYCHOLOGY 



much question, four and only four elementary qualities of 
taste sensation, i. e., sour, salt, sweet, and bitter. What we 
commonly call tastes are generally compounds, or fusions, of 
taste with temperature, pressure, and smell. Thus, as we have 
remarked at an earlier point, the characteristic taste of onions 
will be found astonishingly altered, if one close the nostrils 
firmly before taking the onion into the mouth. Some au- 
thorities incline to add two other elementary tastes to the list 
of gustatory qualities, i. e., alkaline and metallic. But on the 
whole, it seems probable that these are compounds of the 
others already mentioned. Certainly it is remarkable to see how 

completely these four suffice to de- 
scribe the true taste sensations, when 
we are given a large number of sub- 
stances to test by taste alone, without 
knowing in advance what they are 
to be. To make this experiment 
satisfactorily, one must see to it that 
smell is absolutely ruled out, that 
the temperature of the substances is 
that of the mouth itself; and one 
must be careful not to confuse the 
cutaneous pricking, puckering effects 
of certain substances, which are not 
taste sensations at all, with the true 
taste quality. Furthermore, one must 
employ solutions to make the test, 
for many food substances produce characteristic contact 
sensations which we instantly recognise. Other facts will 
be mentioned in the next paragraph confirmatory of the 
view that these four qualities of taste are exhaustive of the 
elementary forms. 

Neural and Physiological Basis of Taste. — The cells 
in the taste buds, found as a rule only in trough-lik« 




Fig. 38. Taste bud seen 
in the papilla foliata 
of a rabbit y 560 d. 
g, taste bud, showing 
outer supporting 
cells; s, fine ends of 
taste cells ; p, taste 
pore. ( Mc Kendrick 
and Snodgrass aftef 
Stohr.) 



SENSATION 121 

depressions about certain papillae of the tongue (though 
occasionally elsewhere in the mouth), furnish us with our 
taste sensations. (Figure 38.) In order to get at these 
deep-lying cells the stimulus for taste has to be in fluid form. 
The end-organ cells are not true nerve cells, but are receptive 
and probably selective cells whose counterparts we shall find 
in the eye and ear. It seems probable that there is still 
further differentiation of the forms of this end-organ than 
is suggested by the mere existence of an end-organ cell; for 
certain regions, like the base of the tongue, are often espe- 
cially sensitive to some one taste, in this case bitter. The 
sides of the tongue are particularly responsive to sour, the 
tip to sweet and to salt. The centre of the tongue is generally 
altogether insensitive to taste. The leaves of the plant called 
gymnema sylvestre will, if they be chewed, paralyse the sen- 
sitivity for bitter and sweet without affecting the other tastes. 
Cocaine, if applied to the tongue, causes first a loss of the 
ability to distinguish bitter, then sweet, and finally salt and 
sour. Furthermore, some substances, e. g., saccharine, pro- 
duce one taste in one part of the mouth, and another taste 
in another part of the mouth. Saccharine is sweet to the 
tip, and bitter to the base, of the tongue. All these facts 
are easy to explain, provided there are taste cells, which 
always respond, however they are stimulated, with some one 
taste quality. But the facts are not as yet definitely deter- 
mined, and we must consequently eschew dogmatic statements. 

The cortical centre for taste is not conclusively estab- 
lished. It is supposedly near that for smell. 

It may be added that the sense of taste is well developed 
at birth, a fact which has, perhaps, a certain evolutionary 
significance. The sense is often defective in the feeble 
minded, a condition which suggests the readiness of ani- 
mals to eat foods whose taste revolts the normal human being. 

Olfactory Qualities.— It is impossible at the present time 
to say anything definite about the elementary sense qualities 



122 PSYCHOLOGY 

of smell. The evidence at present available would make it 
seem probable that the number is large. We seldom make 
any attempt at classifying odours by their sense qualities, 
probably because practical exigencies do not require it. Our 
only common classification is based upon the affective con- 
sequences of the odour stimuli, which we divide into the two 
great classes, agreeable and disagreeable. We designate odours 
by the objects from which they come, e. g., violet, orange, 
leather, etc., adding occasionally to these terms metaphors 
borrowed from taste, e. g., sour, sweet, terms which are not 
always applied unambiguously to the mere sense quality, but 
often involve reference to affective processes, and to other 
concomitant activities, both muscular and sensory. For 
example, a sour smell is often one which stirs up unpleasant 
gustatory sensations, with choking contractions of the throat. 
The classification most used in a practical way at the present 
time is Zwaardemaker's modification of Linngeus' table: 

1 — Ethereal smells, including fruit odours. 

2 — Aromatic smells, e. g., camphor, spice. 

3 — Fragrant smells, e. g., many flowers, violets, sweet 
peas, etc. 

4 — Ambrosiac smells, e. g., musk. 

5 — Alliaceous smells, e. g., garlic, chlorine. 

6 — Empyreumatic smells, e. g., burning tobacco, buml 
toast, coffee. 

7 — Hircine smells, e. g., cheese. 
.8 — Virulent smells, e. g., opium. 

9 — Nauseous smells, e. g., decaying animal matter. 
This classification of the table has a purely practical value, 
however, and cannot be in any way accepted as representing 
the irreducible sense qualities. 

Interesting efforts have been made to determine the rela- 
tions of smell sensations to one another by the method of 
fatiguing the nose. For example, one smells of some sub- 
stance until it ceases to be noticed, a condition which super- 



SENSATION 



123 



venes rapidly with many odours. Thereupon if other sub- 
stances are inhaled, it will be found that some of them are 
clearly noticeable, whereas others are difficult to detect. It 
is assumed that those difficult to detect are similar in quality 
to the fatiguing odour. The results of this method are as 
yet very incomplete. 

Physiological and Neural Basis of Smell. — The olfactory 
nerves terminate about the olfactory cells of the mucous 
membrane lining the upper portion of the nasal cavity, 
(Figures 39 and 40.) These ceils are themselves true nerve 
cells. The cells of which we have spoken as possible receiving 
cells in the skin and tongue, are not themselves nerve cells. 

Those which re- 
ceive the stimuli 
sent to the eye and 
ear were probably 
originally epithe- 
lial cells which 
have taken o n 
neural functions. 
In this particular 
the olfactory cells are unique. Whether correctly or not, 
this fact that they are themselves nerve cells has been 
connected with the fact of their ready fatigue under 
stimulation. 

The cortical neurones which receive stimuli from the 
olfactory organs are in the hippocampal region, as may be 
seen by reverting to chapter II, figures 13 and 20. 

In the human being the olfactory membrane lines the 
upper portion of the back of the nasal cavity, so that the air 
currents of our breathing do not normally affect it much. 
But if we inhale vigorously, the air is drawn higher up in 
this cavity and we at once obtain distinct odour sensations. 
The stimulus must be in very fine form, generally gaseous, 
in order to permit this result. 




Fig. 39. Isolated cells from the 
olfactory region of rabbit; st, 
supporting cells; s, short, stiff 
cilia, or, according to some 
authorities, cones of mucus re- 
sembling cilia; r, r, olfactory 
cells. The nerve process has 
been torn off the lower cell 
marked r. (McKendrick and 
Snodgrass after Stohr. ) 



124 



PSYCHOLOGY 




Genetic Features of Olfactory Sensations.— Smell is sup- 
posed to have developed later than taste and in air-breathing 
animals this is doubtless true of the sense in its present 
form. The most acute perceptions of smell are probably not 
obtained before seven years of age, because of mechanical 
difficulties in the form of the nostriL The abundance of 
mucus in infancy has a similar effect, producing obtuse smell 
sensitivities. 

Fig. 40. Diagram to show the location 
of the olfactory end-organs and the 
course of the air currents when we 
breathe. 0, the olfactory membrane 
into which the olfactory nerve comes 
down through the bone above. The 
black line numbered 1 indicates the 
usual course of the air in natural 
breathing. The lighter line numbered 
2 indicates the course of the air when 
we inhale strongly. (Modified from 
Zwaardemaker. ) 

Analysis of Auditory Sensations: A. Noise and Tone. — 

— Our auditory sensations fall naturally into two great 
groups — noises and tones. But each of these can be sub- 
divided again into a very large number of distinguishable 
qualities. The normal stimuli for hearing are air waves. 
The greater the amplitude of these waves, the louder the 
sound. We get the sensation qualities which we call noise 
when less than two complete vibrations of a sound wave are 
allowed to reach the ear; or, what is perhaps, owing to the 
reflection of the sound, the same thing, when the waves which 
do reach the ear are irregular and non-periodic in their mode 
of vibration. These irregularities may evidently be indefinite 
in number, and so we get such differences in the sounds 
as distinguish, for example, the noise of a train from the 
noise of a drum. These last mentioned cases, however, are 
what are called complex noises, and are conceived as made 
up of aggregations of the simple noises first mentioned, of 
which we can detect some 550 or more. The sensation of 



SENSATION 125 

tone comes from bodies which vibrate periodically and regu- 
larly, like the pendulum. Such bodies are represented best 
by tuning-forks. We can distinguish some 11,000 simple 
tonal qualities. The differences among these qualities are 
primarily what we call differences in pitch. These arise from 
differences in the vibration rates of the sounds. We can 
hear tones ranging in vibration rate from 16 to 50,000 per 
second. The great majority of musical experiences arise 
from tones whose vibration rates fall between 64 and 5000. 
In the central region of the musical scale, i. e., with vibra- 
tions ranging from 500 to 1000, keen observers can detect 
variations in pitch of only one-fifth of a vibration. 

The tonal element in noise is easily discernible in the 
differences in pitch which are often manifest. The roar of a 
freight train crossing a bridge is much deeper than the rattle 
of a dray on a street pavement. Practically all the sounds 
which we hear are combinations of tone and noise. The 
human voice is an excellent example of this fact. In enun- 
ciating words the vowel sounds represent the tonal element, 
the consonants the noises. 

It must be remembered that the musical tones which we 
commonly hear are not simple, but complex, being constituted 
of a number of tones — the fundamental and its overtones. 
The nature, number, and relative intensity of these partial 
tones determines the timbre of a sound. The characteristic 
differences in the tone quality of different instruments have 
this fact as their basis. In the piano, for instance, there is 
a rich and well-balanced set of the lower partial tones. In 
the clarinet the odd overtones are predominant; in the flute 
these particular overtones are few and weak, etc. The evi- 
dence for these facts is not easily obtained without the use 
of apparatus. 

The fact that we can analyse complex tones so that we 
become clearly conscious of their partial tones, as well as 
our capacity to remark the constituent notes in a chord or 



.26 PSYCHOLOGY 

other group of tones is one of the remarkable things about 
audition. We shall connect this fact conjecturally "with the 
construction of the internal ear when we come to speak 
about the end-organ. 

It is evidently possible to connect certain of the more 
fundamental attributes of sound sensations with their physi- 
cal antecedents. Arranging them in pairs we have: tone = 
periodic vibration ; noise = non-periodic vibration ; pitch = 
vibration rate; intensity = amplitude of vibration; tone 
quality = vibration composition. 

B. CombinatiGn Tones. — When two tones occur together 
under certain conditions several additional tones are heard. 
These supplementary tones are known as combination tones 
and are divided into difference tones (of the first, second 
and higher orders), and summation tones. Difference tones 
of the first order correspond in vibration rate to the differ- 
ence between the vibration rates of the generating tones. 
Those of the second order correspond to tones whose vibra- 
tion rates are equal to twice the rate of the lower generator 
minus that of the higher.* The summation tones correspond 
to tones with vibration rates equal to the sum of the rates 
of the prime tones. These combination tones are not 
ordinarily noticed by lay observers, but they are often very 
powerful and undoubtedly contribute to produce certain 
important musical effects, e. g., in the minor chords. The 
theories of their production are too numerous and too unset- 
tled to warrant discussion. It may be that the tones are 
ordinarily objective (extra-organic) and physical in origin 
instead of subjective and physiological (intra-organic), as 
has generally been supposed : or it may prove that sometimes 
they are objective, sometimes subjective, and sometimes both. 

C. Consonance and Dissonance, — The consonance and 
dissonance of tones has long been a subject of psychological 
perplexity. Certain tones {e. g., C and G on the piano) 

* Description of the higher orders is omitted. 



SENSATION 



127 



fuse with one another, that is to say they lose their individual 
distinctness. Other tones (e. g., C and Oil) refuse to fuse 
and are harsh and discordant in their effects upon us. These 
tonal complexes are generally marked with strong feeling- 
tone. They are agreeable or disagreeable. On this account 
we shall defer further discussion of them until we take up 
the elementary gesthetic feelings. 

Genetic Features of Audition. — We have once before 
called attention to the fact that, owing to the presence of 
mucus in the middle and external ear, the new-born child is 
generally insensitive to ordinary sounds. The joosition of 




FlQ. 41. Diagram of the cochlea seen in transverse section. S. T., 
the scala tympani; S. V., the scala vestibuli; C C, the canal of 
the cochlea; A. N., the auditory nerve rimning out through the 
bone to join the canal of the cochlea; B. M., the basilar membrane; 
R. M., Reisner's membrane; T. M., tectorial membrane; 7. H. C, 
inner row of hair cells; 0. H. C, outer roAv of hair cells; S. C, 
supporting cells; R. C, rods of Corti. (Modified from Stewart.) 

the drum membrane also contributes to this insensitivity. 
About four days after birth most children will show response 
to loud sounds by expressions of fright. The sensitivity to 
high-pitched sounds seems to develop sooner than that to 
low sounds. Localisation of sounds seems to begin with many 
children at about four months of age. Children a year and 
more of age are often extremely sensitive to very weak sounds 
which older persons cannot hear at all. 

Neural and Physiological Facts of Audition. — The 
auditor}^ nerves terminate about the bases of hair cells in 
the internal ear, such as appear in figures 41 and 43. These 



128 



PSYCHOLOGY 



cells are immersed in liquid contained by the sac-like mem- 
branes of the inner ear. Figure 43 will make evident the 
relations to one another of the internal, middle, and external 
ear. The external ear gathers up the sound waves and 
focusses them upon the drum membrane of the middle ear. 
The middle ear contains a chain of small bones stretching 
between the membrane Just mentioned and another smaller 
membrane on the side of the inner ear. The Eustachian tube 
comes up from the throat into this middle ear cavity, and 
whenever v/e swallow allows air to enter from the throat. 



• ©' 




Fig. 42. Cross section of the organ of Corti; p and p^, internal and 
external rods of Corti ; i and i^, internal hair cells ; e^, exter- 
nal hair cells; mh, basilar membrane; re, nerve fibres leading 
from the hair cells inward to the central nervous system. 
(Barker after Retzius and Rauber.) 

thus keeping the air pressure in the middle ear like that 
outside. If the pressure were uneven on the two sides, the 
membrane would be stiffly bulged out or in and could not 
operate sensitively to impacts of sound waves. The bones 
and membranes of the middle ear have been supposed to 
multiply the x>ower of the vibrations they transmit to the 
inner ear, thus enabling the relatively feeble sound waves 
in the air to set up vibrations in the liquids of the inner 



SENSATION 129 

ear. (They form a powerful lever system and the receiving 
membrane has a much larger surface than the delivering mem- 
brane.) But the discovery of cases in which the mechan- 
isms of the middle ear have been destroyed without seriously 
impairing hearing, renders it possible that their function is 
more protective and less purely acoustical than has been sup- 
posed. At all events they do not appear to be indispensable. 




Fig. 43. Diagram of the ear. A, auditory canal of the external 
ear; B, tympanic membrane separating the external from the 
middle ear, G ; D, Eustachian tube leading from the middle ear to 
the throat; E, one of the semicircular canals of the internal ear, 
arising out of the utricle upon which, as upon the adjacent saccule, 
fibres from the vestibular branch of the eighth nerve are shown 
terminating; F, the spiral of the cochlea, through the central 
pillar of which the auditory nerve is shown entering to spread out 
toward the hair cells of the cochlea canal, as indicated in figures 
41, 42; G, the main trunk of the eighth nerve. (After Hough 
and Sedgwick.) 

There are many thousands of the hair cells of the inner 
ear, and the precise mode of their stimulation is still prob- 
lematic, despite the numerous explanatory theories in the field. 



I30 



PSYCHOLOGY 



The cells are mounted chiefly on the sides of the rods of 
Corti, which form a triangular tunnel as may be seen in 
figures 41 and 42, These rods rest on the fibres of the 
basilar membrane which forms the floor of the tunnel and 
coils about 3.5 times in the spiral cavity of the cochlea. The 
membrane is considerably broader at the top than at the 
bottom, so that it affords a series of stretched strings of 
different lengths like the strings of a harp. It has been 
generally supposed, following the authority of Helmholtz, 
that these fibres, or groups of them, could respond *sym- 
pathetically' when a tone was sounded corresponding to their 
own natural rate of vibration.* The movement of the fibre 
was supposed to stimulate the cells resting upon it, where- 
upon the cerebral cortex would presently receive an excita- 
tion peculiar to the given tone and different from every other. 

The fact that the ear can analyse 
complex tones was referred to this 
stimulation of special fibres by 
each element of such com- 
plexes. 

Tone deafness and the exist- 
ence of Hone islands' suggest the 
correctness of some such theory 
as the above. Certain persons 
cannot distinguish any change in 
pitch over considerable ranges of 
the scale. This is easily ex- 
plicable on the basis of the 
Helmholtz theory, if certain 
fibres of the basilar membrane are for any reason inca- 
pacitated. 

Of late many difficulties have been encountered which the 




Fig. 44. Membranous laby- 
rinth ( diagrammatic ) . c, 
cochlea; s, saccule united 
by p, the ductus en- 
dolymphaticus, with u, 
the utricle, arising from 
which are seen the three 
semicircular canals. 
( After McKendrick and 
Snodgrass. ) 



* If one press gently down a key on a piano and then sing the 
tone corresponding to the key, the string belonging to the key will 
be heard giving out the tone which it has taken up 'sympathetically'. 



SENSATION 131 

theory has hardly met successfully. These are physical, 
physiological, and psychological. But we cannot go into them. 
Suffice it to say that the facts at present known render it 
probable that the analysis of tones, however this be brought 
about, is performed by the mechanisms of the internal ear 
rather than by the cortex as has been suggested. 

The cortical centres for audition have already been suf- 
ficiently described in chapter II. 

The semicircular canals of the internal ear (figures 43, 44) 
also contain sensory fibres, which terminate, like the true 
auditory fibres, about the bases of hair cells. The fluid in the 
canals contains little calcareous particles called otoliths. 
When the body moves in any given direction some of these 
otoliths are supposed to lag behind, because of their inertia, 
thus striking the hair cell filaments and setting up a sensory 
disturbance. As the canals are at right angles to one another, 
the fluids of some one or two of them would always be most 
affected by a single movement, and the sensory excitations 
arising from them might thus be connected either reflexly 
or by experience with speciflc kinds of movements, e. g., for- 
ward, backward, upward, etc. 

Of the cerebral cortical regions possibly involved in the 
activity of these canals nothing specific is known, beyond 
whatever is included in the disturbance of other sensory 
processes like vision, whose representation in the cortex is 
determined. It is known, however, that the cerebellum is 
engaged in their operation. 

Analysis of Visual Sensations. — Like the auditory sensa- 
tions, our visual sensations fall into two general classes — 
sensations of brightness and sensations of colour. The bright- 
ness sensations are caused by the impingement upon the 
retina of mixed light waves of various lengths; thus, what 
we call white light is made up of light waves of all lengths. 
Pure colour sensations are produced by homogeneous light 
waves, or waves of practically equal length. The more homo- 



132 PSYCHOLOGY 

geneous these waves, the more saturated, the purer, the color. 
As a matter of fact, we never experience colours without get- 
ting a measure of brightness sensation also. Although it is 
convenient to distinguish the two forms of sensation from 
one another, this concomitance must not be forgotten. Under 
ordinary conditions the brightest region of the spectrum is 
in the yellow. If the illumination of the spectrum be suf- 
ficiently lowered, the region of maximum brightness will be 
transferred from the yellow to the green; and the red end of 
the spectrum will become relatively darker in colour-tone 
while the blue end becomes lighter. This phenomenon -is 
known after its discoverer as the Purkinje phenomenon. 

As in the case of sound, the intensity of the sensations par- 
allels the amplitude of the light wave. If we gradually de- 
crease the intensity of white light, we pass first through a series 
of shades, to which we should ordinarily apply the name 
grey, and come finally to black. Black and white are thus 
the extremes of the brightness series of sensations, and be- 
tween them occur the various shades of grey. Black is a 
relative term applicable to great contrasts with white. The 
retina is itself always active, so that even in perfect darkness 
we see floating clouds of dim "^idio-retina? light. We are 
able to distinguish some 700 different brightness qualities 
between the deepest black and the most brilliant white. 

We are in the habit of referring to the spectral colours, or 
qualities, as being seven in number, i. e., red, orange, yellow, 
green, blue, indigo-blue, and violet. This is, however, a 
merely practical and somewhat arbitrary division. These 
names apply to distinctions in colour tone which we promptly 
and easily remark when looking at a sunlight spectrum. But 
in reality the colour between pure green and pure blue is just 
as truly entitled to a separate name as is orange, a colour 
which distinctly suggests both red and yellow. Purple, too, 
which can be formed by mixing red and violet, the colours at 
the ends of the spectrum, is a perfectly genuine colour quality, 



SENSATION 



133 



deserving to rank in this respect with the spectrum colours 
themselves. When we are given proper experimental condi- 
tions we find we can distinguish some 150 spectral qualities. 
This includes the purple. 

Some 30,000 distinguishable qualities can be produced by 
combining the several spectral qualities (150) with the bright- 
ness qualities (700). Thus 
red, for example, can be mixed 
with white to produce various 
tints, which we call pink; or 
with black to produce various 
shades, which we designate 
brown. Figure 45 displays in ^ 
a general way these relations. 

Elementary Colour Rela- 
tions: (1) Mixtures and 
Complementaries. — If we now 
apply to vision the mode of 
analysis we have employed 
heretofore in the case of other 
sensations, and attempt to re- 
duce the visual spectral quali- 
ties, apart from brightness, to 
those which seem really ele- 
mentary, we shall find four 
such colours remaining, i. e., 
red, yellow, green, and blue. 
All the others, when closely in- 
spected, appear to us to be compounds. Orange, we have 
already remarked, appears both reddish and yellowish. Violet 
has traces both of blue and red, and so with all the transitional 
hues leading from one of these elementary colours to another. 
Moreover, if we be given these four colours, we can, as we 
should naturally expect, produce all the other spectral hues by 




Fig. 45. The colour pyramid. 
The line WB corresponds 
to the white-black series of 
colours; the plane Bl.RYG 
represents the most satur- 
ated spectral colours, e. g., 
blue, red, green. The lines 
joining W and B with the 
letters representing the 
several spectral colours, e. 
g., Bl. and Q, illustrate the 
transitional tints and 
shades. (After Ebbing- 
haus.) 



134 PSYCHOLOGY 

mixing these elements in proper proportions. Among the mix- 
tures which we can make in this way are certain very peculiar 
ones, which result when we take two such colours as yellow and 
blue, or red and blue-green. • These pairs of colours, when 
mixed together, give us, instead of a new spectral hue, simply 
grey. Colours whose mixture results thus in grey are called 
complementary colours, and every colour has some comple- 
mentary in the spectral series, except green, whose comple- 
mentary is purple, a mixture of red and blue. (Figure 46 
shows these relations.) 

(2) After-images. — Our visual sensations are in one par- 
ticular very remarkable, as compared with our sensations of 
other kinds. The obvious after-effects of sensory stimulation 
last longer and are more peculiar than is generally the case 
elsewhere. Neglecting minor variations, there are two prin- 
cipal forms of after-images, as they are called, i. e., positive 
and negative. After-sensations would, perhaps, be the better 
term for them. If one suddenly looks at a very bright light, 
and then closes the eyes, the light continues to be seen for 
some seconds in approximately its proper intensity and hue. 
This phenomenon is a positive after-image. If one looks for 
a few seconds fixedly at a bit of blue paper, and then closes 
the eyes, or turns them upon some neutral grey back-ground, 
one sees a yellow patch corresponding in shape to the blue 
stimulus. This is a negative image. Negative images invert 
the relations of brightness in the stimulus, so that what was 
white in the object appears black in the after-image, and vice 
versa. They also convert all spectral colours and their com- 
pounds into their several complementaries. While all the 
senses display after-effects similar to the positive visual after- 
image, none of them has anything precisely comparable with 
the negative image. 

(3) Colour Contrast. — The phenomena of contrast also, 
although characterising in a measure all sense domains, and 
for that matter all conscious processes, are especially striking 



SENSATION 



^3S 



in vision. Yellow and blue appear respectively yellower and 
bluer, when seen side by side, than when seen apart. This 
seems to be largely because of the fact that the eye moves 
slightly from one to the other; and the eye fatigued for blue 
already has a disposition to react with the yellow after- 
image. If the part of the retina containing this yellow 
after-image process is then exposed to the real objective yel- 
low, the power of the stimulus is much enhanced, and we see 
a deeper, more intense yellow than we otherwise should. This 

RED" 




'^^.W33yo-3n-^^ 



Fig. 46. The colours at opposite ends of any diameter of the 
circle produce grey, if mixed with one another. Purple, 
which is the complementary colour to green, is not found in 
the spectrum, but is produced by a mixture of the end-colours 
of the spectrum, red and violet. Colours opposite blank seg- 
ments are psychologically pure and elementary. Colours opposite 
shaded segments are composite. 

phenomenon is called successive contrast. Simultaneous con- 
trast is an even more interesting phenomenon, and may be 
illustrated by putting a small bit of grey paper upon any 
coloured field, and then covering the whole with thin white 
tissue paper. The grey patch will, under such conditions, 



136 PSYCHOLOGY 

always appear as of a colour complementary to that of the 
field, i. e., it will appear blue when the field is yellow ; yellow, 
when it is blue; reddish when it is green, etc. The explana- 
tions offered for this phenomenon would take us too far into 
physiological psycholog}^, and we must rest content with the 
general conclusion that our colour sensations are dependent, 
not only upon the colour of the object immediately fixated, 
but also upon the colours surrounding it, and upon the im- 
mediately preceding stimulation. 

(4) Defects in Colour Vision. — Finally, we may remark, 
that the peripheral portions of the retina are seriously de- 
fective in their colour reactions. Accurate colour vision 
belongs only to the central portion of the retina around the 
fovea. According to most observers, red and green are only 
seen accurately for a short distance outside this region. Yel- 
low and blue are lost next, and in the extreme periphery all 
colours appear white or grey. This condition suggests the 
pathological colour-blindness from which many persons suffer 
even at the fovea. Eecent investigations indicate that pos- 
sibly all the spectral colours can be seen at the periphery, 
provided their intensity be sufficient. These observations 
imply the existence of colour weakness in the marginal re- 
gions of the retina, rather than true colour-blindness. 

Pathological Colour Blindness. — Colour-blindness is some- 
times, but very rarely, total. The patient sees all colours as 
white, grey, or black. Two types of partial colour-blindness 
are recognised, the one red-green blindness with two subordi- 
nate forms, and the other blue-yellow blindness. In red- 
green blindness the spectrum is seen as half yellow and half 
blue. The quality of the yellow or blue changes with the 
region of the spectrum observed. In one type of this form 
of blindness the greatest brightness of colour is seen in the 
pure yellow, and the red end of the spectDim is relatively 
bright. The other type finds the brightest colour in yellow- 
greeUj, and sees the red end of the spectrum relatively dark. 



SENSATION 137 

In both types a neutral grey band is seen between the blue 
and the yellow regions of the spectrum. In blue-yellow 
blindness the violet end of the spectrum is dark and little 
saturated. Yellow and white are confused. This classifica- 
tion is Hering's. It should be added that many persons are 
slightly defective in their colour vision without properly be- 
longing in the group of the colour blind. 

Theories of Colour Vision. — Of the many theories of 
colour vision that of Helmholtz is probably most widely 
known, although it is quite certainly untenable. It assumes 
three fundamental colours, red, green, and violet, by com- 
binations of which all the other colours including white 
are produced. For example, red and green will produce yel- 
low; red and violet, purple; and all three elementary colours 
taken together will produce white. It explains the facts of 
colour mixture well, but it is unable to account for the psy- 
chological simplicity of blue and yellow, which do not seem 
to us compounded of other colours. Orange, for instance, 
instantly suggests to us the red and yellow of which it is com- 
posed. The facts of colour-blindness, to mention nothing 
further, are inexplicable by it. 

Hering's theory is at present probably most widely held. 
It assumes three fundamental pairs of colours, white-black, 
blue-yellow, and green-red. These pairs are in relations of 
opposition to one another such that if one member of a group 
be stimulated, the other member must become active before 
the equilibrium of the retina is restored. The black-white 
substance is always stimulated by light of every kind and it is 
evolutionarily the oldest, red-green being the most recently 
acquired. Mixtures, complementary effects and after-images 
can all be accoiinted for by the theory. Mixtures are explained 
as in the Helmholtz theory. The positive after-image results 
from the continuation of the effect of the stimulus. The 
negative image arises from the activity of the colour pro- 
cesses antagonistic to those aroused by the stimulus. Com- 



138 PSYCHOLOGY 

plementary colours simply offset one another and leave the 
grey of the black- white process. Unfortunately the green 
which is the complementary of spectral red is not pure green, 
as it apparently should be, but blue-green and there are 
some other difficulties too technical to discuss here, which 
render the theory imperfectly satisfactory. 

The theory at present apparently most adequate to the 
various facts is that of Mrs. Ladd-Franklin, although scholars 
have not generally conceded its truth. 

Mrs. Franklin assumes that the retina originally responded 
only to differences in brightness. The outer region of 
the retina is still in this condition as are probably the 
retinge of certain of the lower animals. The conscious quality 
corresponding to this stimulus is grey. In the course of 
evolution the chemical substance which originally gave rise 
to sensations of grey only, has been diffentiated so that the 
various spectral colours produce partial disintegration of it 
and lead to the sensations which we now see from red to 
violet. The first differentiation which took place corre- 
sponded to the colours blue and yellow, and we consequently 
can see these hues farther out on the retina than red and 
green, for which sensitivity was later evolved. The yellow 
process is supposed to differentiate into red and green. The 
blue has remained relatively unchanged. The grey of com- 
plementary colours is explained by the entire distintegration 
of the original visual substance by the summative effects of 
the partial disintegrations which have been evolved from it. 
Thus when yellow and blue are mixed, each colour disinte- 
grates a portion of the original visual substance, and together 
they effect a complete disintegration of it. The facts of 
colour mixtures can be explained much as in other theories. 
Contrast phenomena are due to the progressive break down 
of the chemical substance assisted in certain cases by the 
circulation. 

Although in this account emphasis has been laid upon the 



SENSATION 



139 



genetic aspects of the theory, Mrs. Franklin regards these 
considerations rather as confirmatory of her view than as 



r * 




Seler. 



Fig. 47. Opt., optic nerve; Fov. c, fovea centralis; Scler., sclerotic; 
Chor., choroid; Ret., retina; Conj., conjimctiva; Pr. cil., ciliary 
processes by means of which lens is adjusted; Cam. ant., anterior 
chamber filled with aqueous humour; p, posterior chamber. 
Just below p the capsule and ligament supporting the lens are 
shown attached to the ciliary processes. Corpus vitreum, the 
vitreous humour of the main cavity of the eye-ball. 

affording it a foundation. She starts from the fundamental 
and immediate facts of colour vision, such, for example, as 



I40 



PSYCHOLOGY 



(I 



the basic differences in quality among the colours red, yellow, 
green and blue. 

Physiological and Neural Basis of Vision: A. The Eye- 
ball. — The essential anatomical facts about the eye are shown 
in iigures 47 and 48. The eye is a small spherically shaped 
dark-room, the inner walls of which are covered with the 
sensitive retinal membrane. Light is admitted to this mem- 
brane through the aperture in the iris. The light passes 
first through the transparent spherical cornea where it is 
refracted (figures 47 and 50) ; then into the anterior chamber 
filled with a clear fluid known as the "^aqueous humour/ thence 

through the lens where 
-S - it is again refracted, so 
that it may form a per- 
fect image on the retina, 
after which it passes 
through the Vitreous 
humour,' thus finally 
reaching the retina where 
it sets up neural changes 
that are transmitted to 
^ the cerebral cortex. 
Ch The eye has a tough, 
S thick outer coat, the scle- 
Scheme of retinal fibres, rotic, to which are at- 
after Kuss.) lYop, optic tached the large muscles 
nerve; S, sclerotic; Ch, cnoroid; B, -, t ■-, ,^ 

retina; P, papilla (blind spot, that move it. inside the 
where no retinal structure is gderotic is another mem- 

' ' brane, the choroid, which 

carries blood vessels and is provided with a dense, dark pig- 
ment that renders the inside of the eye essentially impervious 
to all light, save that which comes through the opening in 
the iris. Inside the choroid again is the retina itself, shown 
in figures 48 and 49. By contracting and expanding, the iris 



'P - 



Ch 




Fig. 48 
(James 



SENSATION 



141 



alters the amount of light admitted in such a way as to best 
serve clear vision. In dim lights it expands to allow entrance 
to more light, in bright lights it contracts. 




Fig. 49. Scheme of the structure of the retina. A, layer of rods 
and cones; a, rods; 6, cones; E, layer of bipolar cells; Q, 
layer of large ganglion cells; H, layer of nerve fibres; s, 
centrifugal nerve fibre. (Barker after Ramon y Cajal.) 

B. Convergence and Accommodation. — By means of six 
muscles which are attached to the external surfaces of each 
eye we are enabled to direct them toward any object at which 
we may wish to look. This process is convergence, or 
divergence, as the case may be. By means of the lens in each 
eye, which can be made more or less convex, the rays of light 
from the object at which we are looking are brought to a 
focus upon the so-called fovea centralis, the central spot of 
the retina and the point of clearest vision ; and thus we secure 
a clear, well-defined image upon each retina. This act is 
called accommodation. 



142 PSYCHOLOGY 

The cornea also plays an important part in bending the 
light rays into the proper directions for clear vision and it 
is to defects in the sphericity of its surfaces that astigmatism 
is generally due. The rays ■ coming from a perpendicular 
line, for example, may be bent more sharply than those 
coming from a horizontal line. In consequence they cannot 
both be seen clearly at once. If one is properly accom- 
modated for, the other will have its light rays focussed either 
in front of, or behind, the retina. Short sightedness and 
far sightedness are ordinarily due to faulty form of the eye- 
ball or the lens. Bays of light instead of coming to a focus 
on the retina, do so in front of, or behind, its surface, so 
that the images are blurred and indistinct. Lenses or prisms 
put in front of the cornea are used to offset these accom- 
modatory defects. (Figure 50.) Sometimes the muscles 
which move the eye-balls are not well balanced in power and 
then prisms may be used to lessen the work done by the 
weak muscles. 

C. The Retina. — The retina, which differs from all the 
other sense organs in being in reality a part of the brain 
removed by growth from its original location, contains a most 
elaborate series of structures. These are shown in figure 49. 
The optic nerves enter from the back of each eyeball, and 
the nerve fibres are then distributed radially all over the 
spherical surfaces of the eyes, as far forward as the lens. 
(Figures 47, 48.) The fibres turn backward, away from 
the centre of the eye, and lose themselves among the basal 
cells of the retinal structure. The light waves make their 
way in through the dioptric media of the eye, as already 
described, and finally, after passing through the transparent 
optic fibres, come to the retinal end-organs, the rods and 
cones. (Figures 47 to 49.) At this point the physical ether 
vibrations which we call light set up physiological changes 
in the nerve, and the nervous current runs backward along 
the nerve fibres, and so to the brain. 



SENSATION 



143 



At the point where the optic nerve enters the cup of the 

eye there is no retinal membrane. This is the blind spot. 

(Figure 48.) It is slightly nasalward from the fovea and 

its presence can easily be demonstrated by placing two dots 

three inches apart on a sheet of paper. By closing the left 

Fig. 50. Diagram show- 
ing difference between 
•normal (A), myopic 
or near-sighted {B) 
and hypermetropic or 
far-sighted (C) eyes. 
In A rays of light 
from objects at a dis- 
tance come to a focus 
precisely upon the 
retinal surface. In B 
they come to a focus 
too soon and are di- 
verging again when 
they reach the retina. 
In C they do not come 
to a focus until after 
they have passed be- 
yond the retina. 
In B and G the dotted 
lines represent the 
course of rays after 
correction by glasses 
put in front of the 
eyes. The diagram 
may also serve to il- 
lustrate astigmatism 
by supposing that the 
lines in A represent 
the vertical rays from 
an object, which in 
such a case come to a 
focus properly on the retina, while those in S or C represent 
the horizontal rays which come to a focus either in front of, or 
behind the retina. In such an instance it is evident that objects 
would be seen blurred in all diameters other than those which 
come to a focus on the retina, as do the vertical ones. (After 
Howell.) 

eye and looking at the left-hand dot, while moving the paper 

to and from the face, a position will be found where the 

second dot wholly disappears. 

The retina responds to vibration rates of ether between 




144 PSYCHOLOGY 

440 trillion and 790 trillion per second. These are the rates 
of the light waves of the visible spectrum of the sun. 

The rods and cones are distributed differently over the 
retinal surface. The cones are in exclusive possession of 
the foveal depression, the point of clearest vision. They 
decrease in number and are gradually displaced by the rods 
as we pass toward the periphery of the retina, until at the 
extreme forward limits of that membrane the rods alone are 
found. There is not a little evidence to indicate that the 
rods mediate only brightness sensations and that their most 
important fimctions are perhaps connected with vision in 
dim lights.* Certain it is that we are often able to notice 
faint lights with the periphery of the eye, where they are 
numerous, which are not visible at the fovea. This can be 
demonstrated upon faint stars. It is often noticed at sea 
where the lights of distant vessels can be thus discerned 
when invisible to direct vision. The cones are probably then 
the important organs for colour vision. 

The cortical centres for vision in the occipital lobes have 
already been described at some length in chapter II. 

* The rods contain a substance known as 'visual purple' which 
bleaches rapidly under the influence of light. It has been suggested 
that the Purkinje phenomenon, mentioned in an earlier paragraph, 
may find its explanation in the way in which this visual purple 
affects the retinal action of coloured light. This substance is 
bleached most rapidly by green light, a trifle less rapidly by blue 
light, and least rapidly by red light. The colours at the red end 
of the spectrum may consequently produce less retinal effect on the 
visual processes in the rods, than do those at the blue end. On the 
basis of a theory such as that of Mrs. Ladd-Franklin, this fact 
should result in decreasing the relative brightness of the red end 
of the spectrum. According to this theory, sensations of brightness 
are occasioned by the disintegration of the primitive colour molecule 
found in the rods. As the green and blue rays Avould operate more 
effectively on the retina in dim lights than the red rays, they would 
break down this molecule more rapidly and vigorously, and the 
resulting brightness sensations would be more intense. Thus the blue 
end of the spectrum would appear brighter than the red end. The 
fact that the Purkinje phenomenon is said not to be present in foveal 
vision, and the further fact that the operation of the visual purple 
is practically confined to vision in dim lights, would tend to con- 
firm such an explanation as this. 



SENSATION 145 

Genetic Facts of Vision. — The retina is well developed 
at birth, and some children apparently have a slight control 
over the movements of fixation at birth. This is, however, 
rare, and such control generally does not come until the 
third week. But there is much variation. Older children 
surpass adults in their ability to see in a dim light, and to 
see small objects at a distance. This is probably because 
the optical media, e. g., the humours of the eye, etc., are with 
them more transparent. The colour sense is often apparently 
defective in children. But this probably means simply a 
lack of experience in distinguishing colours. The brighter 
colours are generally preferred. Genuine colour blindness is 
extremely rare among girls, whereas perhaps one in every 
twenty-five or thirty boys is defective. 

Summary of Sensation Qualities. — After our analysis of 
the several types of sensation we may now bring together 
certain of our results in numerical form. If we consider only 
the irreducible sense qualities, like redness and sweetness, 
abstractly considered, and call these the sensation elements, 
we have probably not more than 20 or 25 when smell and 
sound are left out of the count. The problem of reduction 
to simple sense forms is, in the case of these last two groups 
of sensations, fraught with great difficulty and uncertainty. 
But if we take into account the actual concrete sensory quali- 
ties as we find them, e. g., red combined with a given bright- 
ness, we are supplied with more than 42,000 distinguishable 
qualities. This latter figure again disregards smell, about 
which no confident statement can be made. 

General Characteristic of the Sensation Quality. — The 
fundamental characteristic common to all the sensations is a 
certain something which they occasion in us, for which shock 
is possibly the most appropriate name. This characterises 
all transition in consciousness, and especially consciousness 
of immediate sense activities. 

The Intensity of Sensations. — We have remarked incident- 



146 PSYCHOLOGY 

ally a number of times in this chapter, that our sensations 
originate from the stimulation of specific sense-organs by 
some form of motion in the physical world about us, such, 
for example, as the air waves, the ether waves, the heat waves, 
etc. But it is not only necessary that these various forms of 
stimuli should fall upon the sense organs. It is also nec- 
essary that they should possess sufficient intensity, if we are 
to become conscious of them. A very faint light, a very faint 
sound, a very faint odour, may fail altogether to produce a 
sensation in us. The point at which such a stimulus becomes 
intense enough to produce a sensation is called the limen, 
or the threshold. It is also a matter of frequent observatiorv 
that when sensory stimuli become very intense, the}'' cease to 
be felt as they were before, and we experience pain instead. 
A very bright and blinding light may cause acute pain. A 
loud, shrill sound, extreme heat, and extreme cold are all 
painful. The point at which the various stimuli are thus 
felt as painful is known as the upper limit of sensation. 
Between the limen and the upper limit fall an indefinite 
number of gradations of sensory intensities. It should be 
noted in passing, that certain olfactory and gustatory stimuli 
can hardly be obtained in sufficient intensity to be called 
painful; and also that many very weak sensations are 
unpleasant, e. g,, weak sounds and faint lights, the tickling 
from delicate contact, etc. 

Weber's Law. — Exhaustive experiments have revealed a 
very interesting law, known after its first careful investigator 
as " Weber's Law," which obtains among the relations of 
these sensation intensities, as we experience them. When we 
place a weight of 20 grams upon the hand, we find that we 
observe no change in the pressure sensation until a whole 
gram has been added to the 20. If we take 100 grams, we 
must add 5 grams before we can observe the change in inten- 
sity; and, speaking generally, whatever absolute weight we 
start with, we find always that we must add the same fraction 



SENSATION 147 

of its own weight, that is, 1-20, in order to feel that the 
pressure has changed. A similar thing holds true of the 
intensity of sounds, but in this case the fraction is approxi- 
mately 1-3. In sensations of brightness the change must be 
1-100, etc. In all these cases the formula is most nearly true 
in the medium ranges of intensity. A\Tien we approach the 
limen or the upper limit, the relations seem to become irregu- 
lar, and in the case of certain senses, like smell, the appli- 
cation of the law is somewhat dubious. 

Duration of Sensations. — We have seen that every stimulus 
must possess a definite intensity before it can give rise to a 
sensation; and it is even more obvious that every such stimu- 
lus must also possess a certain duration, if it is to be felt. 
Moreover, many sensations are very profoundly altered by 
prolonged duration. Thus, colour sensations will be found 
to grow dim and to fade, if long continued. Some sensations 
of sound, on the other hand, seem to become more intense, 
if continued, and finally occasion pain. The detailed facts 
about the influence of duration upon sensory processes cannot 
at present be both accurately and briefly set forth, and we 
shall therefore pass them by. 

Extensity in Sensations. — Certain sensations, like those of 
vision and touch, always possess, in addition to the pre- 
viously mentioned characteristics of duration and intensity, 
a definite quality of extensity. Some distinguished psycho- 
logical authorities insist that all sensations are thus extensive 
or voluminous, sensations of sound and smell and taste, as 
well as those of touch and sight. This is not, however, the 
prevalent view, and we shall not discuss the matter here. It 
will be considered in the chapter on space. Suffice it to say, 
that a colour sensation cannot exist at all without being 
experienced as possessing extensity. The same thing is true 
of pressure ; and, in general, all sensations which ever possess 
the quality of extensity always possess it, Just as they possess 
duration and intensity. The kinsesthetic sensations are 



148 PSYCHOLOGY 

admitted by all psychologists to belong, with pressure, tem- 
perature, and vision, to the spatial senses. 

The Attributes of Sensation. — If we bring together the 
points we have gone over in discussing the quality, extensity, 
duration, and inten3ity of sensations, we shall see that quality 
is, in a definite sense, the most fundamental thing about a 
sensation, and that the other characteristics can fairly be 
regarded, for our psychological purposes, as subordinate attri- 
butes of quality. Thus, a given musical tone may last one 
second, or three, without essential change in the pitch, which 
is its quality, psychologically speaking. It may be louder, 
or softer, without changing its pitch. Furthermore, it may 
change its timbre, which seems to be a sort of secondary- 
quality, by changing its overtones, and still retain its pitch, 
or primary quality, unaltered. Similarly, a sensation of red 
may come from an object one inch square, or from one two 
inches square, without noticeably changing the hue of the 
colour, although if it be made sufficiently small, the colour 
cannot be detected. Kevertheless, it must be recognised that 
if any one of these attributes becomes zero, the whole sen- 
sation disappears. A sensation lacking either duration or 
intensity, for instance, is no sensation at all. The term 
'attribute' is consequently not without ambiguity in this con- 
nection. 

Functions of Sensory Processes: (1) Instigation of Move- 
ments. — From the physiological side it is evident that 
the primary organic function of the sensory processes must 
be that of instigating movements. In chapter III, we exam- 
ined certain typical instances, in which we found these proc- 
esses operating to produce movements, and then further 
operating to report the results of the movements, thus assist- 
ing in the establishment of useful coordinations. When we 
say that sensory stimulation instigates movements, we must 
not make too sharp a distinction between the stimulation, 
as sensed, and the movement, when a response is made with- 



SENSATION 149 

out deliberation. The nervous process is practically a con- 
tinuous progress of impulses from the sense organs clear 
around to the muscles. There is nowhere any essential break 
in this feature of the activity. The act is literally a unit. 

Similarly^ if we examine the facts closely, we shall see 
that on the psychological side the sensory reaction is simply 
the registration in consciousness of a certain kind of act, 
and that it varies markedly with the sort of response that is 
executed by the muscles. A sensation of a disagreeable odour 
produces not only consciousness of a certain kind of olfactory 
quality; it produces also the consciousness of tendencies to 
movement, e. g., choking movements in the throat, violent 
expiratory movements, movements of the head away from 
the source of the odour, etc. The sensation of the odour is 
instantly merged with other sensations which these move- 
ments call out, and is markedly modified by them. Further- 
more, the kind of sensation which we get from an odour in 
the first instance will be determined intensively at least by the 
kind of movement in progress at the moment when we come 
into contact with the stimulus. If we are not expecting the 
odour, our breathing may be free and deep. In consequence, 
we obtain a deep inhalation of the noxious fumes, and from 
the blending of this impression with the ongoing mental 
activity, one kind of sensation results. If we are expecting 
the odour, or if our breathing happens momentarily to be 
superficial, the sensation is much modified and weakened. 
So we see that our consciousness of sensory stimuli is quali- 
fied on both sides by movements, i. e., by those movements 
which lead up to it, and by those which follow it. 

(2) Source of the Material of Knowledge. — Many psy- 
chologists define sensation as the consciousness of the quali- 
ties of the objects (including the tody) stimulating the sense 
organs. These qualities which we have been describing in 
the present chapter, e. g., redness, blueness, warmth, and cold, 
are highly abstract affairs isolated by us for our psychological 



I50 PSYCHOLOGY 

purposes from the larger matrix of actual conscious 6'ii:peri- 
ence of which they form a part. But as a matter of fact 
when our sense organs are stimulated, we are commonly con- 
scious of objects rather than of mere qualities. The con- 
sciousness of objects, or 'thinghood' is technically called 
perception and will be studied in the next chapter. 

James has hit off the point, in one of his happy inspira- 
tions, sajdng that sensation gives us mere "acquaintance 
with objects,^' whereas perception gives us "knowledge about" 
them. As a matter of fact, it is clear that our sensory experi- 
ences which involve simply becoming acquainted with objects 
are few and far between. The all but universal reaction 
is one in which we place, or classify, or recognise, the stimu- 
lus in some way, thus relating it vitally to our past knowl- 
edge. A literally pure sensation would only be possible as a 
first experience prior to all other experience. On the other 
hand any sensation may be regarded as elementary which 
cannot be further analysed. It should be added, too, that the 
assignment of objective character to our sense experiences is 
especially prompt and convincing in those senses which most 
definitely contribute to our awareness of extension, resist- 
ance, and externality to the organism, i. e., touch and vision. 

Despite their abstract and unreal character when taken 
in isolation, sensations furnish us the basic material upon 
which our world of knoMdedge rests. We clothe them with 
meaning and with associations of innumerable sorts, and in 
the perceptual and ideational forms, which we shall encounter 
in our further study, we employ them as the foundation for 
all our thinking. 

From both the psychological and physiological sides there- 
fore, sensory processes are fundamental. 



CHAPTEE VI 
PEECEPTION" 

Perception, Sensation and Ideation. — Perception has some- 
times been defined as "a consciousness of particular material 
things present to sense." Perception is as a matter of 
fact always a larger thing than this definition would imme- 
diately imply; because we are always aware in the "fringe," 
in the background of consciousness, of sense activities other 
than those we speak of as being perceived, especially those 
connected with the internal operations of our own organism. 
Perception as psychologists describe it, is therefore, like sen- 
sation, something of an abstraction.* 

Our definition, however, marks ofE perception from sensa- 
tion in its emphasis upon the consciousness of objects, or 
things. Sensation, as we saw in the last chapter, is more 
appropriately conceived as concerned with the consciousness 
of qualities. The two processes have this in common, that 
both are produced by the stimulation of a sense organ. This 
circumstance serves to mark both of them off from such men- 
tal conditions as memory and imagination, in which our 
consciousness may equally well be engaged with objects. They 
are probably more apt to lead to immediate motor reactions 
than these latter ideational processes. ISTevertheless, it seems 

* It will be seen from this definition that the psychologist uses 
the term perception in a somewhat narrower sense than that recog- 
nised in ordinary usage. We speak in common parlance of per- 
ceiving the meaning of a theory, when we refer to our appreciation, 
or apprehension, of it. In such cases we may be engaged in 
reflection upon the theory, and our thought may thus be quite 
independent of any immediate stimulation of sense organs. 



152 PSYCHOLOGY 

possible, as we shall see more fully in later chapters, that the 
sensuous material of perception and imagination and memory 
is qualitatively one and the same. Visual mental stufE, for 
example, whether perceptually or ideationally produced, is 
sui generis, and totally unlike any other kind of mental stuff, 
such as auditory or olfactory. 

It will he seen that the radical distinction above mentioned 
between the perceptual consciousness of objects and such con- 
sciousness of them as we may have in memory and imagina- 
tion rests upon a physiological basis, i. e., the presence or 
absence of sense organ activity. The only difference on the 
mental side is commonly to be found in the intensity and 
objectivity of the two. Perceptions are ordinarily more 
intense, and feel more as though given to us, than do our 
memories or imaginings. Nevertheless, there are many per- 
sons whose imagery frequently takes on an almost perceptual 
vividness and is followed by motor consequences such as nor- 
mally belong to sense stimuli. The thought of blood, for 
example, or the description of a wound will in these cases 
elicit the most life-like visual images followed by nausea and 
even vomiting. In hallucination, too, it seems as though mere 
mental images assumed the vividness and externality of per- 
cepts; and in the case of very faint stimulations, e. g., of 
sound or colour, we cannot always be confident whether we 
have really perceived something, or merely imagined it. This 
principle of distinguishing the two is, therefore, not always 
to be depended upon. Fortunately for our practical interests, 
the distinction is generally valid and we do not often confuse 
what we really perceive, with what we imagine. 

It must be said that certain distinguished psychologists 
maintain that there is a real difference in quality between 
perceptual and ideational material. They base their view 
partly upon introspective grounds and partly upon alleged evi- 
dence from cases of mental disease, where the power to obtain 
images is lost without entire loss of perceptual capacity. To 



PERCEPTION 153 

the author the evidence does not appear wholly conclusive for 
either alternative and he provisionally chooses the simpler. It 
may well be that the quality of the total psychical conditions 
is different when one is experiencing a visual percept and a 
visual image. The difference may well be due to changed 
organic conditions of some sort. But it by no means follows 
that the visual qualities as such differ in the two cases, other- 
wise than intensively. 

We pointed out the fact in the last chapter that, save for 
the earliest experiences of infancy, sensation, as a concrete 
mental state distinguishable from perception, probably does 
not occur. The great masses of our sensory experiences are, 
accordingly, perceptions, and it obviously behooves us to 
examine them with care. 

Analysis of Perception: A. Its Unifying Character. — ^We 
may evidently have perceptions which originate from the 
stimulation of any sense organ, and we might select an 
example from any sense department for analysis. Because 
of their importance for everyday life we may, however, profit- 
ably choose a case from visual perceptions for our examina- 
tion. Let us take the instance of our perception of a chair. 
AVhen our eyes fall upon such an object we instantly react 
to it as a single object. The reaction itself is a unifying act. 
Although the chair has four legs and a seat, we do not see 
each of the legs as separate things, and then somehow put 
them together with the seat, and so mentally manufacture a 
chair for ourselves. On the contrary, our immediate response 
is the consciousness of a single object. We know of course 
that the chair possesses these various parts, just as we know 
that it has various colours, and in a sense we notice these 
features when we perceive it. But the striking thing is, that 
despite the great number of sensory nerves which are being 
stimulated by such an object, we perceive it, not as an aggre- 
gate of qualities a-{-h-\-c, but as a unit, a whole, which we 
can, if necessary, analyse into its parts. There is on our part 



154 PSYCHOLOGY 

a certain unity of interest in the thing which binds its mem- 
bers into a single whole. The same thing is true as to our 
perception of words. We naturally see them, not as so many 
separate letters, but as wholes> or at most as groups of sylla- 
bles; a fact which modern education wisely takes advantage 
of in teaching children to recognise entire words at a glance. 

Evidently this is another phase of the fact which we 
noted at the time v/e were studying attention, when we 
remarked the selective and synthesising nature of the mind 
in its operation upon sensory stimuli. We also came across 
the same fact in our description of the action of the cortex 
of the cerebrum. We observed there, that the cortex has its 
activity determined, now from this sensory source, and now 
from that, but the response is always of a unifying, synthe- 
sising character. This seems to be the reason, too, that our 
perceptions are so regularly definite, instead of vague, as they 
apparently might be. The cortical reaction tends toward the 
systematised orderly form. We note first, then, in our analy- 
sis of visual perception, that we commonly perceive objects 
as single and distinct, not as vague, confused, and aggregated 
compounds. 

B. Part Played by Experience in Perception. — If we 
describe for ourselves just what we perceive in such a case, 
we should add to our consciousness of the colour of the chair 
our sense of its size and its shape. We say, for example, 
that the seat is square, that it looks square. Now it requires 
only a moment's reflection to convince us that, as we stand 
at a little distance from the chair, the image of its seat, 
which is reflected upon the retina, is not square at all, but 
is a kind of rhomboid, with two acute and two obtuse angles. 
We become more clearly aware of this fact when we 
attempt to draw the chair as it appears. We are obliged 
under these conditions to draw just such a rhomboid as the 
seat presents to the eye. If we draw a real square on the 
paper we cannot make it serve acceptably for a chair seat, 



PERCEPTION 155 

seen as we now see the chair of our illustration, which is 
supposed to be at a little distance from us. 

Now, how does it come about that we can perceive a rhom- 
boid as a square, which is what we unquestionably do in this 
case? The reply contains the secret of the fundamental fact 
about all perceptions. We see it as a square, because we see 
it, not as it actually is to our vision at this moment, but as 
our past experience has taught us it must be. Were it not for 
the influence of this past experience, this habitual reaction 
upon objects like the present chair seat, undoubtedly we 
should not see it as a square. The same thing is true as 
regards our perception of the height and size of the chair, and 
the material of its construction. Had we no previous experi- 
ences that resembled the present one, we should be hopelessly 
uncertain as to the element of size. To judge of this with any 
accuracy we must, to mention only a single circumstance, 
know with considerable exactness the distance of the chair 
from us ; for the nearer an object is, the larger our visual 
image of it. Experience has taught us the common size of 
chairs and tables, and has taught us to allow correctly for the 
effects of distance, etc. We come at once, then, upon this 
striking fact, that in some manner or other perception involves 
a rudimentary reproductive process. Somehow, our former 
perceptions are taken up and incorporated into our present 
perceptions, modifying them and moulding them into accord 
with the past. 

Moreover, if we interrogate our consciousness carefully, 
we shall find that in visual perceptions we often, perhaps gen- 
erally, get an immediate impression of the contact values of 
the seen object. We get instantly something of the cool- 
smooth-feeling when we look upon highly polished marble. 
Velvet seen near at hand gives us similarly a feeling of soft- 
ness. It is not simply that we know the marble to be cool 
and smooth, or the velvet to be soft. That would be merely a 
matter of associating certain ideas with the percept. We 



156 PSYCHOLOGY 

mean to designate a phase of the actual perceptual synthesis. 
Individuals vary greatly as regards the manner and the degree 
in which these secondary sensory implications are experienced. 
Certain bizarre forms of a similar process, known as synses- 
thesia, illustrate the point in an extreme way. For example, 
certain persons when they hear music always experience 
colour sensations accompan3dng it. We may regard it as 
certain, therefore, that sensory stimuli affecting only one sense 
organ may set up perceptual reactions involving directly more 
than one sensory area in the cortex, so that the percept result- 
ing may be regarded as a coalescence of several different sense 
qualities. 

Auditory perceptions show just the same influence of experi- 
ence as do the visual perceptions which we have analysed. 
When we first hear a foreign language spoken, it is a mere 
babel of sounds. Presently, as we come to learn the lan- 
guage, the sounds become words with meanings intelligible to 
us, and our perception of what we hear thus manifests, as 
in the case of vision, unmistakable dependence upon our 
past experience. So also with touch. We learn that certain 
kinds of contact experiences mean door-knobs, or pencils, or 
books, etc. We might run through the whole list of sense 
processes and find the same thing true in varying degree. 

We may conclude then, that a second important factor in 
perceptual processes, in addition to the tendency to perceive 
objects as definite wholes, is the striking combination of the 
present with the past, of novelty with familiarity. Were it 
not for the fact that the perceived object connects itself in 
some way with our foregoing experience, it would be entirely 
meaningless and strange to us. This is the way the words of 
an unknown language impress us when we hear them. On 
the other hand, the perceived thing is in some particulars dif- 
ferent from these previous experiences, otherwise we could 
not distinguish the past from the present. Perception is, 
then, evidently a synthetic experience, and the combination 



PERCEPTION . 157 

of the new and the old is the essential part of the synthesis. 
This process of combining the new and the old is often called 
apperception. In perception, therefore, the raw material 
supplied by the several senses is taken up into the psycho- 
physical organism, and there, under the process of appercep- 
tion, given form and meaning by its vital and significant 
union with the old psychophysical activities. Material taken 
up in this way becomes as truly a part of the organism as 
does the food which enters the alimentary tract. 

Genesis of Perception. — It is evident from the facts we 
have examined in the immediately preceding paragraphs, that 
the development of perception depends upon the degree to 
which our past experience enters into the results of each new 
sensory excitation. In the discussion of habit and of atten- 
tion, we observed that the mind undoubtedly does make itself 
felt, first in splitting up the undifferentiated, vague con- 
tinuum of consciousness into parts; then in connecting these 
parts with one another ; and finally in endowing the organism 
with habits whereby it may the more promptly and efficiently 
cope with the conditions it has to meet. Clearly, a fully 
developed perception is itself simply a kind of habit. That 
I should be able, when looking at a plane surface limited by 
four lines making two acute and two obtuse angles, to see a 
square table-top is only explicable by remarking that this 
perception has been acquired just as most other habits have 
been, i. e., slowly and by dint of many repetitions. 

So far as we can determine, experience begins to operate 
upon our sensory excitations at the very outset of life, and the 
process of perception accordingly begins, but in a very rudi- 
mentary manner, immediately after the hypothetical "first 
moment" of sensation to which we referred in the previous 
chapter. ISTevertheless, we must suppose that for many weeks 
the perceptual process is on a very low level of advancement. 
In the first ^lace, as we pointed out, a perception involves our 
having some knowledge, however simple, about the object. 



158 ■ PSYCHOLOGY 

But such knowledge about objects depends uj)Oja. our ability 
to connect various sensory experiences with the same object, 
and this in turn depends largely upon our ability to control 
our movements. We mentioned in an earlier chapter that such 
control is a relatively late acquirement, and accordingly our 
perceptual processes get no available opportunity for develop- 
ment in early infancy. An illustration will make this clearer. 

Let us take the possible course of events involved in a 
baby's acquiring the perception of a bell. Obviously the 
visual factors involved cannot be satisfactorily employed, until 
some control has been attained over the eye muscles, so that 
the child's eyes are able to converge and follow an object. 
This attainment is commonly achieved about the third or 
fourth week of life, although there is great variation here. 
If the child never touched the bell and never heard it, he 
might still learn to recognise it when he saw it, as something 
he had seen before ; but he evidently would have no such per- 
ception of it as you and I have. As a matter of fact, the 
bell will be put into his hand, and during the random move- 
ments of the hand his eye will sometimes fall upon it. The 
occasional repetition of this experience will soon serve to fix 
the association of the touch-hand-movement feelings with 
the visual consciousness of the bell, so that the thing seen 
will inevitably suggest the thing felt and moved, and vice 
versa. Moreover, all the time this has been going on there ^ 
have been sensory stimulations of sound from the bell. 
This group of elements, therefore, becomes annexed to the 
rest of the group, and straightway we have the rudiments of 
the process by which, when we see or touch or hear a certain 
kind of object, we promptly perceive it as a bell, i. e., as a 
something to which a certain total mass of familiar experi- 
ence belongs. 

Such a case as this is t3rpical, and despite certain omissions 
of detail, may serve to represent the kind of activities which 
always accompany the acquiring of perception. Obviously 



PERCEPTION 159 

the perceptual process involves the establishment of rela- 
tions. In the case which we have used for our illustration 
these relations show clearly in the connecting of one group 
of sensory experiences with, another. The auditory group 
comes to mean the eye group, and both of these come to mean 
the hand-movement group. Moreover, the definite establish- 
ment of these relations is practically dependent upon the 
motor factors by which the hand and eye come to control the 
object. When such relations as these are once set up, we 
have a definite perception of an object about which we know 
something, i. e., that it is an object from which we can get 
certain kinds of familiar experiences. 

It will be seen at once that in this series of events by which 
the perception becomes definite, the several steps involved are 
brought about on the strictly mental side by the activities 
involved in attention, which we have previously sketched. 
First, there is the dissociative process, throwing out into the 
foreground of consciousness the visual characteristics of the 
bell, as distinguished from other things in the visual field. 
This is followed by the associative, or relating process, 
which connects this visual bell with the auditory and tactual- 
motor experiences. It remains, then, to inquire what further 
development takes place after the accomplishment of this 
synthesis of the different sensory activities of sound, sight, 
and touch into the consciousness of a single object. 

Perception and Habit. — We spoke of fully developed 
perceptions a moment ago as habits. If this metaphor were 
entirely appropriate, it might seem that perceptions would 
come to a certain point of development and then stop. Clearly, 
our reference to habit was in one particular misleading. Our 
most perfect habits are all but unconscious. A perception, on 
the other hand, is distinctly a conscious process. The truth 
of our statement lies in this fact, i. e., that we tend to become 
unconscious of objects and to react to them in accordance 
with the principle of mere habit, just in the degree in which 



l6o PSYCHOLOGY 

our necessities permit us to perceive and react upon them in 
literally the same manner, time after time. We thus become 
almost wholly oblivious to the exact appearance of a door- 
knob which we have occasion to turn very often. Our eyes 
may rest upon it momentarily, but only long enough to guide 
the hand in its movement, and often without registering any 
visual impression of which we could immediately afterward 
give an exact account. There are also certain features of 
the neural process in perception which warrant our com- 
parison with habit, and to these we shall come in a moment. 
The great mass of our perceptions, however, are of objects 
whose relations to us change sufficiently from time to time 
to make any complete subsidence of our consciousness of them 
incompatible with their effective manipulation; consequently 
we continue to be definitely aware of them. 

Development of Perceptual Process. — The development 
of perception, which goes on in a certain sense more or less 
all our lives, and in a very definite sense up to the period of 
mental maturity, is plainly not a development involving 
simply a more automatic response to objects. Quite the con- 
trary. The process which we commonly think of as growth 
in the powers of perception consists in the further elabora- 
tion of our discriminative and associative activities. We 
learn to see new things in the old objects, new characteristics, 
which before escaped our knowledge. We also learn more 
about the objects, and thus, when we perceive them, perceive 
them in a modified and more intelligent way. Speaking 
literally, it therefore appears that development in perception 
really involves perceiving new objects in the old. 

A moment's reflection will show the similarity of this fact 
to one which we noted when analysing attention, i. e., that to 
continue our attention to an object for more than a moment, 
we must notice something new about it, see it in a new way. 
We might of course substitute the word perception for the 
word attention, inasmuch as attention is an attribute of all 



PERCEPTION i6i 

consciousness, and then the proposition would read: we can- 
not continue to perceive an object beyond a moment or two, 
unless we perceive it in a new manner. Perceptions which 
we do not execute in a new way, we have already seen do 
actually tend to lapse from consciousness, passing over into 
habits of response which we make to certain physical stimuli. 

When a child is taught to observe the arrangement of the 
petals of a flower, he henceforth perceives the flower in a new 
way. To him it really is a new object. All development in 
perception is of this kind, and constitutes a sort of trans- 
formation by the unfolding of the old object into the new 
and richer one. The larger part of this perceptual develop- 
ment occurs during childhood and adolescence. Neverthe- 
less, there is a continuation of the process in an inconspicuous 
way far into old age. Thus, we come in childhood to recog- 
nise the salient characteristics of the common things about us 
in every-day life. During adolescence we enrich this material 
by observing more accurately the details of these things, and 
by increasing our knowledge of their general purport and 
relations. After attaining maturity our further advance is 
almost wholly connected with the affairs of our professional, 
or business, life. The musician becomes more sensitive to the 
niceties of harmonic accord and the nuances of melodic 
sequence. The business man becomes more observant of the 
things which pass under his eye, so far as they are related to 
his specialty. The elementary school teacher learns how to 
keep the corner of her eye sensitive to iniquity upon the back 
seat while apparently absorbed in listening to the recitation 
of virtue upon the front bench. The mother learns to watch 
her children with an increasingly intelligent discrimination 
between acts which indicate illness and those which indicate 
fatigue, excitement, and transitory irritation. Everywhere 
development is primarily shown by fresh skill in the detec- 
tion of new features in old things. 

Illusions. — Certain instances of illusion furnish a striking 



i62 PSYCHOLOGY 

confirmation of the general idea of perception which we have 
been explaining. An illusion is a false^, or erroneous, percep- 
tion, which is often spoken of as a deception of the senses. 
But this is often misleading, as we shall presently see, for the 
senses frequently operate properly enough. The difficulty is 
with our reaction upon the sensory material furnished to us. 
Indeed, there is undoubtedly a measure of illusion in most 
perception, but unless it is sufficiently significant to cause 
practical difficulty, we entirely overlook it. 

Among the most frequent of such illusions is the misread- 
ing of printed words. We sometimes read the words put before 
us as we have reason to suppose they ought to be, not as they 
are. Thus, if we come across the word mispirnt, many of us 
will read it in all good faith as misprint and never see the 
difference. We react to the general visual impression and its 
suggestion, and we see what really is not before us. If the 
sentence in which the word occurs is such as to give us a 
definite anticipation of the word, the probability of our over- 
looking the typographical error is much increased. Similarly 
when we come into a darkened room where sits a spectral 
form — an experience which as children most of us have had — 
we see a person with startling clearness; and the subsequent 
discovery, that the supposed person consists of clothing hang- 
ing upon a chair, is hard to accept as true. Illusions of 
sound are very common. We fancy we hear our names called, 
when in point of fact the sound we thus interpret may have 
been anything from a summons to some other person of simi- 
lar name, to the barking of a dog, or the whistle of a locomo- 
tive. Tactual illusions are also easy to produce. The 
so-called "illusion of Aristotle" is a good specimen. (Figure 
51.) Children often achieve it by crossing the first and 
second fingers, and then moving to and fro upon the bridge 
of the nose with the crotch thus formed between the fingers. 
Presently one becomes distressingly impressed with the fact 
that one possesses two noses. 




PERCEPTION 163 

The Causes of Illusions : A. Central Interpretative Factors. 

— This last instance is typical of many illusions, in that it is 
caused by stimulating with a single object the sides of the 
two fingers which are not ordinarily in contact with one 
another, and for the stimulation 
of which, accordingly, two ob- 
jects are commonly necessary. 
We react in the familiar, the 
habitual, way to the simul- 
taneous stimulation of these 

areas of the skin. This has tt ct 

riG. 51. 

invariably been accomplished 

hitherto by the pressure of two objects, and two objects we 
therefore feel. It is clear that in such a case the sense organ 
is in no way at fault. It sends in the impulses communi- 
cated to it just as it has always done before; but the reaction 
which we make upon the impression also follows the usual 
course, and in this special case happens consequently to be 
wrong. The same explanation applies to our reading of 
incorrectly spelled words. Many illusions of movement, e. g., 
such as we obtain in railroad trains, are of this character. 

The same general principle holds, but applied in a slightly 
different manner, when we see, or hear, or otherwise perceive, 
some object not actually present, because we are expecting 
to perceive it. Thus, if we are listening for expected foot- 
steps, we find ourselves time after time interpreting other 
sounds as those of the awaited step. At night the nervous 
housewife wakens to hear the burglars passing from room to 
room along the corridor. Step follows step in stealthy but 
unmistakable rhythm, though the whole impression has no 
other objective basis than the occasional cracking of floors 
and partitions, phenomena which are the constant accom- 
paniments of changing temperature. Illusions of this sort 
are readily induced if we have recently had experiences which 
might suggest them. Recency of similar experience has, then, 




Fig. 52. 



164 PSYCHOLOGY 

to be added to expectancy and liabit as a possible source of 
illusory perception. 

It is clear tbat a consideration of certain types of illusion 

affords new and striking 
confirmation of the part 
played in perception by 
previous experience. The 
cortical reaction suggest- 
ed by the stimulus does 
not happen to correspond 
to the object actually 
present. But this corti- 
cal reaction is evidently determined by the impress of old 
perceptual experiences whose traces have been preserved. 
The same point is admirably illustrated by such drawings as 
the accompanying, figures 52 and 53. We can see the stairs, 
either as they appear from above, or from below. In one 
case the surface a seems nearer to us; in the other case 6 
seems nearer. We can see in the other figure a big picture 
frame, the frustrum of a pyramid, or the entrance to a square 
tunnel. Yet one and the same object is presented to the 
retina in each case. The eye can 
hardly be accused of entire re- 
sponsibility for the shifting re- 
sults. But lines like these have 
actually been connected in our 
former perceptions with the 
several objects named, and in 
consequence the cortical reaction 
appropriate to either of them may 
be called out. It would seem 
abundantly certain, therefore, 
that wliile a portion of what we perceive is always supplied 
from without, another portion, and often the dominant por- 
tion, is supplied from within ourselves. 



\~7 



Fig. 53. 



PERCEPTION 165 

B. Peripheral Factors. — There are many kinds of illusions, 
be it said, which do not come immediately under the head- 
ings we have discussed. For example, such illusions as that 
in figure 54 are much too complex in their basis to be prop- 
erly included, without modification, under the explanatory 
rubrics we have considered. The innervation of the eye 
muscles is probably an influential element in many illusions 
of this character. In the upper figure the short angular 
lines carry the eye in large sweeping movements out beyond 
the main line, whereas in the lower figure these movements 





Fig. 54. Despite their contrary appearance, the two horizontal 
lines will be found of equal length, 

tend to be checked by the recurrent angular lines. Even 
though the eye does not make a very different excursion 
in the two cases, we notice a distinct difference in the seem- 
ing magnitude of the movements and this difference is natu- 
rally transferred to our judgment as to the extent of the lines. 
In certain forms of this type we sometimes find that there is a 
suggestion of an enclosed figure, which in the case of the 
lower of these particular figures is evidently smaller in its 
horizontal dimensions than that of the upper figure. Photo- 
graphs have been made of the eye while observing illusory 
figures of many sorts and from these it is perfectly obvious 



l66 PSYCHOLOGY 

that while the eye seldom follows precisely any of the lines 
of a figure, nevertheless the movements which are actually 
executed vary greatly in dependence upon the position of the 
various lines which make up the figure in its entirety. Where 
these movements involved in perceiving are very different, 
it is to be expected that our judgments of the space rela- 
tions of the objects perceived should also vary. 

Probably the actual conformation and the muscular mecha- 
nism of the sense organs, especially the eye, may be immediate 
causes of a number of illusions. The tendency to see a 
vertical line as longer than a horizontal line of equal length 
has been regarded as an instance of this sort, because more 
muscles are involved in vertical movements and therefore pre- 
sumably more complex innervation is required. We judge 
that line longer which requires the greater effort to traverse. 
To make clear other cases of this kind would require more 
space than can properly be given here. Certain it is, however, 
that we perceive all objects in ways which vary with their 
surroundings. We noticed in the chapter on sensation that 
colours are seen very differently when combined with differing 
companions. Eed seen beside yellow looks quite different 
from red seen beside blue. A sound seems much louder if 
heard in the midst of quiet than if heard amid louder sounds. 
Large objects are made to appear larger by contrast with very 
small ones. In short we perceive all things in relations which 
modify them and many of these modifying circumstances are 
primarily conditions in the sense stimuli. 

Hallucination. — In distinction from illusion, which is 
essentially perception, (i. e., a consciousness of particular 
material things present to sense — though other things than 
those really perceived happen to be present), hallucination 
is the name given to the consciousness of objects felt to be 
physically present, when as a matter of fact no object of any 
kind is at hand. Illusions are every- day experiences familiar 
to all of us. Hallucinations, while by no means infrequent, 



PERCEPTION ~ 167 

are much less common and consequently more difficult to 
describe satisfactorily. Many of tlie alleged telepathic phe- 
nomena involve hallucinations. Thus, for instance, one is 
sitting alone in a room and suddenly sees another person, 
known to be thousands of miles distant, come in and sit down. 
Again, when alone in the same way, one suddenly hears some 
sentence clearly spoken. In neither case, needless to say, is 
anyone actually present, save the owner of the hallucination ; 
and there are no obvious external phenomena which could be 
held accountable for the experience. All the senses seem to 
be represented from time to time in the hallucinatory percep- 
tions, although hearing and vision are, perhaps, the ones most 
frequently involved. 

An interesting distinction has been made between true 
hallucination and what is called pseudo-hallucination. In 
the first case the perceived object not only seems external 
and real, but there is in the mind of the person experiencing 
the hallucination no suspicion at the time that the object 
seen, or heard, is not actually real and present. In the 
second form there is a sort of background consciousness, such 
as we sometimes note in dreams, which assures the victim 
that the phenomenon is after all imaginary and unreal, 
despite its genuinely objective appearance. 

It has been suggested that hallucinations are really extreme 
forms of illusions, extreme cases of misinterpretation of sen- 
sory stimuli, resting upon highly disintegrated cortical forms 
of reaction. The sensory source of the stimulation has been 
sought at times in pathological conditions of the sense organs, 
e. g., congestion of circulation in the eye, or ear, etc. 

There are many facts which tend to confirm this view, which 
is advocated by certain of the most competent judges; and 
some others which are very difficult of reconciliation with it. 
A discussion of the point at issue would take us too far afield 
for present purposes, and readers who are interested in such 
matters must consult some of the more extended and special- 



i68 PSYCHOLOGY 

ised treatises. Meantime, we must admit that unless tliis 
last suggestion is correct, hallucination furnishes an excep- 
tion to the general rule that cortically initiated conscious 
processes are less vivid and less definitely externalised than 
those which originate in sense organs. If hallucination is 
not peripherally initiated, it belongs to the group of phe- 
nomena which we shall examine in the chapter upon imagina- 
tion, and we may defer further discussion of it until we reach 
that point. 

Neural Process in Perception. — The nervous pathways 
involved in perception have already been described in a gen- 
eral way in chapter II. In vision, for example, the occipital 
regions in the cortex are unquestionably employed, in cases 
of auditory perception the temporal region is active, etc. 
Undoubtedly the association areas also play a very important 
part. Connected with their activity there is this highly 
important fact to be taken more explicitly into account, i. e., 
that in perception the cortical activity, which is in part 
decided by the Tcind of neural stimulus sent into it, is in large 
measure determined by the modifications which previous 
experiences have impressed upon the structure of the hemi- 
spheres. Evidently this is but a statement in physiological 
terms of the doctrine which we have already enunciated in 
psychological form. As we observed in our discussion of 
habit, every nervous current which passes through the cen- 
tral system seems to leave its impress behind it, and this 
impress modifies the nature of the neural excitations which 
follow it. The case of perception is, accordingly, only a spe- 
cial instance of this general principle, albeit a peculiarly 
important and conspicuous one. It is on this account, i. e., 
because of the fundamental importance of the accumulating 
modifications of the cortex, that we compared perception, 
earlier in the chapter, to the case of habit. From the side 
of neural action, therefore, perception cannot be referred 
simply to the employment of a certain pathway throughout 



PERCEPTION 169 

the sensory-motor tracts; it must be referred to a certain 
Icind of action, in which the result in consciousness appears 
to be a product of two neural factors — sensory stimulus into 
cortex modified by previous experience. 

General Function of Perception: A. Its Organic Rela- 
tions. — In order to give perceptual processes their proper 
setting among the psychophysical activities of adjustment, we 
must revert once again to our notion of the sensory-motor cir- 
cuit. We have already observed that in this device the sense 
organs represent so many telephonic receivers ready to trans- 
mit inward messages from the external world to the organism. 
We have also described in a general way the method by 
which certain kinds of motor reactions to these sensory stimu- 
lations are brought to pass. But in the higher brain centres 
the pathways connecting sense organs with muscles are often 
extremely complex, and a stimulus transmitted inward by 
the afferent nerves may lead to innumerable intermediary 
brain activities before it issues again in movements of the 
voluntary muscles. Now perception is the conscious con- 
comitant of certain of these brain processes. Memory, imagi- 
nation, reasoning, etc., are others. Bearing these facts in 
mind, and observing closely what actually occurs when we are 
engaged in perceiving objects, we readily detect the main 
functions of perception. 

B. Perception as an Elementary Form of Knowledge. — 
Perception represents the immediate, organised, mental reac- 
tion of the individual upon his environment. The process 
is sometimes called presentation, and this is a good name 
for it. In it the world is presented as a system of relations 
— not merely reflected as a disorganised mass of atoms and 
molecules, but constructed by the various activities of atten- 
tion into definite objects. If sensation is properly described, 
after a common fashion, as the process in which the mind 
and the world of matter first come together, perception may 
be described as the point in which the past and the present 



I70 PSYCHOLOGY 

come together for the creation of a new object. The per- 
ceived thing is not simply the physically present vibrations 
of atoms and molecules vt^hich we call light, or sound, or 
what not; it is these vibration's, as they are interpreted by a 
psychophysical organism which exposes to them a nervous 
system already affected by past experiences, that enable it 
to get only certain specific kinds of results from the present 
synthesis. Evidently we make far more constant use of our 
past experience than common-sense observation would lead 
us to suppose. It is not only when we reflect upon our past 
life that we shape our action in accordance with its instruc- 
tions and admonitions; every time we open our eyes to see, 
or our ears to hear, what we can see and hear is in a true 
sense and in a large measure determined for us by what we 
have previovsly learned to see and hear. It is a moralistic 
truism that only the good can really love and appreciate virtue. 
But this principle is not simply, nor primarily, a moral 
tenet. It is based on irrefutable and unavoidable psychologi- 
cal foundations. It states a law of the mind which we might 
wish at times to change, but cannot. The first and basic 
function of perception, then, is to afford us our primary 
knowledge of a world of objects amid which we have to live., 
It is the first actual, definite, and complete step in the process 
of knowledge whose further and more complex features we 
have next to examine. 

C. Perceptual Control over Movements. — The second great 
function of perception grows out of the first. Indeed, it 
might be regarded as in a measure simply a corrolary of the 
first. All the sensory and afferent processes have their ulti- 
mate value, as we saw must be the case in chapter II., 
because of the more efficient movements of adjustment to 
which they lead. Perception is no exception to this rule. ISTow 
in order that sensory stimulations may not lead at once to 
motor responses, but may be interpreted and correlated with 
other sensory impulses, it is evidently necessary that there 



PERCEPTION 171 

should be some provision for halting them momentarily, 
and identifying them, when they come again and again. 
Perception is the process by which this identification is made 
possible; and so it comes to pass that perception is the first, 
both logically and genetically, of the conscious operations 
by which the life of control is inaugurated. 

We have repeatedly seen that perception involves immedi- 
ately within itself the effects of antecedent experience, and 
a secondary result of this complication with memory processes 
is that when we perceive an object which is in any way 
familiar we instantly recognise it. If the object thus rec- 
ognised be one about which our previous experience is unam- 
biguous, we respond almost instantly with appropriate move- 
ments — those of aversion, if it be repulsive or harmful, those 
of approbation, when the contrary sentiments are aroused. 
If the object have no such definite antecedent reactions 
(whether native or acquired) connected with it, we straight- 
way fall to deliberating as to our course of action; or if the 
impression be wholly fleeting, we pass to some more stimulat- 
ing excitement. 

Perception is thus the gateway through which the mass 
of sensory excitations (save those already grown purely 
habitual) must pass before they can be permitted to set up 
motor responses of the volitional kind. Often the perceptual 
activity is sufficient to decide this volition. The clock strikes 
and we rise to leave the room. When mere perception is not 
felt to be adequate to the case, the matter is handed over to 
reflective deliberation. In either event, voluntary response is 
safeguarded. The formation of the elements of the process 
of knowledge and the inauguration of the control over move- 
ments in accordance with the mandates of experience — these 
are the two great functions of perception. This statement 
applies without modification to the special phases of percep- 
tion, to which we shall next advert. 



CHAPTEE YII 

PEECEPTION" OE SPATIAL AND TEMPOEAL 
EELATIONS 

I. SPACE 

The objects which we have mentioned in our analysis of 
sensory consciousness are all objects perceived by us as 
parts of a spatial and temporal order; and it is evident that 
our account of them would be extremely defective if we 
altogether omitted a study of these time and space relations. 
We shall consider space first. 

Two Fundamental Problems. — Psychologists are divided 
in opinion upon two fundamental problems concerning our 
space perceptions. It is maintained in the first place by 
some of them, the nativists, that the capacity to perceive 
space is an innate, hereditary trait possessed by us in advance 
of experience. Others, the empiricists, maintain that spatial 
judgments are as much the results of experience, are as truly 
acquired, as piano playing or the liking for caviar. We shall 
not discuss the question, for this would require more time than 
we can give it. But we may register the dogmatic opinion 
that both parties to the controversy are in a measure correct. 
We hold that the crude, vague consciousness of extension, of 
volume, is a genuinely innate experience, occurring at once 
upon the reception of appropriate sensory stimulation; and 
that it is underived by mere experience from non-spatial psy- 
chical elements. So far we are nativists. On the other hand, we 
are confident that practically all accurate knowledge of the 
meaning of the space relations in our space world, all precise 



SPATIAL AND TEMPORAL RELATIONS 173 

perception of direction, position, contour, size, etc., is a result 
of motor experience, and could never be gained without it. 
So far we are empiricists, holding to a genetic point of view 
regarding the development of our adult space consciousness. 
Effective space perception involves not only the experience 
of vague extension, but also movements of localisation. In 
the human being there are surely but few localising move- 
ments which are wholly innate. The analyses and discussions 
which follow will serve to furnish some of the evidence upon 
which this view rests. 

Sensory Basis of Spatial Perception. — The second main 
point upon which psychologists are unable to agree concerns 
the sensory sources from which we gain our spatial judg- 
ments, a matter to which we made cursory reference in chap- 
ter "V. The majority of psychologists maintain that vision 
and touch are the only real avenues of spatial perception; 
whereas certain others, like James, boldly maintain that all 
forms of sensory consciousness are "voluminous," — smell and 
taste and audition, as well as sight and touch. The doctrine 
maintained in this book is that all forms of sensations are 
immediately suggestive of spatial attributes, e. g., position, 
size, distance, etc. ; but that only sight and touch possess 
intrinsically and completely the full spatial characteristics. 
We include in touch, when thus mentioned, all the cutaneous 
sensations and the motor, or kinsesthetic, sensations. As a 
matter of fact, however, the temperature and pain sensations, 
considered apart from pressure and sensations of movement, 
are ordinarily negligible elements. When involved in con- 
junction with pressure, they often modify our perceptions 
materially. Thus a cold object, e. g., a coin laid on the fore- 
head, often feels larger than a coin of equal size, but of the 
body temperature. 

Doubtful Cases. — Taste and smell and hearing are really 
the debatable sensations. Taste we throw out of court at 
once, because taste stimuli practically involve invariably the 



174 PSYCHOLOGY 

stimulation of cutaneous sensations of contact and tempera- 
ture. We cannot, therefore, submit the matter to unam- 
biguous introspective analysis. Smells we undoubtedly 
classify at times in ways suggesting spatial attributes, and 
by turning the head until we determine the direction of 
maximum intensity we undoubtedly localise them roughly. 
The smell of illuminating gas seems somehow a more massive, 
extensive sort of thing than the odour of lemon peel. But if 
one lessens the disparity in the intensity of the two odours, by 
getting just the merest whiif of the gas and inhaling freely 
and deeply of the lemon odour, the spatial difference between 
the two begins to evaporate. There can be no question but 
that we tend to think of the more intense and more widely 
diffused odour as the larger. Nor is this remarkable, since 
we find it actually occupying more of the atmospheric space 
about us. But when we note that with mild intensities of 
odours their spatial suggestiveness wanes; when we further 
note that we have no definite impressions of size, much less 
of shape, under any conditions; and finally when we remark 
that even our ability to localise odours is extremely imperfect, 
we may well question whether smell has itself any properly 
space quality. 

The case of auditory space is similar to that of smell. We 
are told, for instance, that the tones of the lowest organ 
pipes are far larger, far more voluminous, than those of the 
high shrill pipes. A base drum sounds bigger than a penny- 
whistle, a lion's roar than the squeaking of a mouse, etc. 
Such illustrations, when adduced as evidence of the spatial 
character of sounds, evidently contain three possible sources 
of error. In the first place, we often know something about 
the causes of these sounds, and we tend to transfer the known 
size of the producing object to the supposed size of the sound. 
Secondly, and of far more consequence, sounds affect other 
organs than those of the internal ear, especially when they 
are loud or of deep pitch. Powerful tones thus jar the whole 



SPATIAL AND TEMPORAL RELATIONS 175 

body, and are felt all over. Moreover, vibrations of the drum 
membrane of the middle-ear undoubtedly set up crude sensa- 
tions of pressure, or strain, to which we may come to attach 
a spatial significance associated with the sound. Add to this, 
thirdly, the fact that we readily convert judgments based 
upon the intensity of sounds into judgments about their 
extensity, just as in the case of smell, and one has a large 
mass of considerations leading to scepticism concerning the 
genuineness of intrinsic auditory space relations. Of course, 
no one doubts that we localise sounds, and of the factors 
involved in this process we shall have more to say presently. 
But the fact that certain sounds are located within the head 
(e. g., when two telephone receivers are placed against the ears 
and an induction shock sent through them) has been cited to 
prove the native possession of a true auditory space; for here 
apparently experience from the other senses, such as vision, 
would give no direct assistance. But these cases are certainly 
capable of explanation by means of the intra-cranial sensa- 
tions set up in pressure nerves by bone vibrations, and by the 
effect of the imagination, visual and otherwise. Taken alone, 
such evidence could hardly be conclusive. 

If we come back, then, to ordinary introspection, we find 
that all which the most ardent partisans of an auditory space 
can claim is a much emaciated form of the visual and tactual 
article. A vague sense of volume, or mass, much vaguer even 
than that given by mere temperature, with some crude sense 
of position, would seem to be the utmost capacity. Any sense 
of contour or shape or exact size, any ability to measure, is 
lacking. Clearly such a space, even if genuine, which we 
doubt, would ill deserve to be ranked beside the space of 
eight and touch. The manner in which we localise sound may 
best be described after we have analysed visual and tactual 
space. 

Growth of Space Perception. — Our adult cognition of 
€pace relations is generally so immediate and unreflective, the 



176 PSYCHOLOGY 

feeling for space values so compelling and seemingly inevit- 
able, that we find it difficult to believe that these reactions 
are the results of a slow process of growth and learning. 
Nevertheless, this is unquestionably the fact. Babies evi- 
dently have no precise perceptions of space until they have 
acquired a considerable degree of motor control; and even 
then their appreciation of large expanses and distances is 
often ludicrously inexact. The child reaching in good faith 
for the moon is the stock illustration of this sort of thing. 
That we have no precise appreciation of visual space relations 
until experience has brought it to us is abundantly proven by 
the cases of persons born blind and successfully operated upon 
for the restoration of sight. Immediately after the operation 
such persons are almost wholly at a loss for accurate impres- 
sions of size, shape, or distance. After the hands have explored 
the objects seen, and the eyes have been allowed to pass freely 
to and fro over them, these spatial impressions gradually be- 
gin to emerge and take on definiteness. By the use of properly 
arranged lenses and prisms experiments of various kinds have 
been made on normal persons, showing that we can speedily 
accommodate ourselves to the most unusual inversions and 
distortions of our visual space. We can thus learn to react 
properly, although all the objects, as we see them, are upside 
down and turned about as regards their right and left rela- 
tions. The new relations soon come to have the natural feel- 
ing of ordinary perceptions. 

These observations show very strikingly that our space 
perceptions are functions of experience and can be changed 
by changing the conditions of the experience. Moreover, 
it is easy to demonstrate that the space relations, as we 
perceive them by different senses, are far from homoge- 
neous. Indeed, the impressions which we gain from the 
same sense are often far from being in agreement. N"ever- 
theless, we feel our space relations to be objectively homo- 
geneous, a result which could hardly come about under such 



SPATIAL AND TEMPORAL RELATIONS 177 

circumstances of sensory disparity without the harmonising 
effects of experience. To illustrate — the edge of a card 
pressed gently upon the forearm will feel to the skin shorter 
than it looks. The same card, if the finger tip is allowed to 
run slowly along it, will feel longer than it looks. The dis- 
appointing disparity between the cavity of a tooth, as it 
feels to the tongue and appears to the eye or feels to the 
finger-tip, is a notorious instance of the same thing. The 
tongue and the finger-tip both give us pressure sensations. 
Yet they give a very different report of the same object. 
Similarly, objects seen upon the periphery of the retina 
appear smaller than when seen by the fovea; and often they 
undergo a certain distortion in form. That we should per- 
ceive, amid all these possible sources of confusion, a fairly 
stable and well-ordered space world betokens unmistakably 
the systematising effects of experience, controlled no doubt by 
the exigencies of our practical interests in effective orientation. 
Part Played by Movement. — Even though we recognize the 
fact that experience brings order and precision and effective- 
ness into our space perceptions, the general manner by 
which these results are achieved is not yet clear; much less 
what factors are chiefly employed in their attainment. It 
requires only the most cursory examination to convince one- 
self that the all-important element in the building up and 
correlating with one another of our various spatial sensa- 
tions is movement. In acquiring accurate touch perceptions, 
for instance, the finger-tips and hands move over the object, 
grasp it now in this way and now in that, until a complex 
set of tactual impressions has been gained from it. Without 
such movement our touch perceptions are vague in the 
extreme. If we close our eyes and allow another person to 
put a series of small objects upon our outstretched hands we 
receive only the most indefinite impressions of form and size 
and texture. But allow us to manipulate the same objects 
in our fingers, and we can give a highly accurate account of 



178 PSYCHOLOGY 

them. Similarly, if we wish to compare visually the magni- 
tude and contours of two objects, we must allow our eyes to 
move freely from one to the other. Indeed, reflection must 
assure us that the vital meaning of all space relations is 
simply a given amount and direction of movement. To pass 
toward the right means to make a certain kind of movement; 
to pass upward means to make another kind, etc. To be 
sure, we assign arbitrary measures to these relations, and we 
say an object is a mile away, or is a foot thick and six inches 
high. But the meaning to us of the mile, the foot, and the 
inch must always remain ultimately expressible in movement. 

Were it possible to get at the exact stages in the process 
by which the child acquires its control over space relations, 
we should thus secure the most penetrating possible insight 
into our adult space perceptions. But as this is at present 
impracticable, we must content ourselves with an analysis of 
the factors which seem clearly involved in these adult con- 
ditions, without regard to their genetic features. 

Touch and Vision. — It is certain that touch and vision 
practically cooperate from the beginning, and we shall isolate 
them from one another only to point out their respective 
peculiarities, and not because their operation is independent. 
The most important, and for practical purposes the most 
accurate, part of our touch perceptions comes from the hands 
and finger-tips. By moving the hands over the various parts 
of the body we come to have a fairly accurate notion of their 
touch characteristics in terms of the hand as a standard. 
Moreover, each hand touches the other, and we thus get a 
kind of check from touch on the tactual standard itself. 
Generally speaking, when two parts of our body touch each 
other we feel the one which is quiet with the one which is 
moving. Thus, if we stroke the forehead with the fingers 
we feel the forehead ; but if we hold the hand steady and move 
the head, we feel the fingers. 'Now in order that we should be 
able to learn in these ways that a certain amount of sensation 



SPATIAL AND TEMPORAL RELATIONS 179 

in the finger-tips means a certain area on the forehead, 
and, much more, that we should be able to tell with so much 
accuracy when we are touched what part of the body the 
sensation comes from, seems to depend upon what Lotze calls 
the "local sign." 

Local Signs. — If one is touched upon the palm and upon 
the back of the hand, one obtains from both stimulations 
sensations of pressure; but however much alike they may be 
as regards duration, intensity, and extensity, we promptly 
feel a difference in them, which leads us to refer each to its 
appropriate region. E"ow this something about touch sensa- 
tions which permits us to recognise them as locally distinct, 
although we recognise all of them as being cases of contact, is 
what is meant by the local sign. These local signs, then, are 
the relatively fixed elements in our space-perceiving proc- 
esses. It is by learning to correlate one group of them with 
another group that we can develop by experience the accuracy 
of our perceptions. Thus, for example, we come to learn 
that the stimulation of one series of local signs in the 
order a-i-c means a special movement of one hand over the 
other, say the downward movement of the right hand over 
the left. The same series stimulated in the order c-h-a 
means the reverse movement. It must be remembered very 
explicitly at this point that we are including the kinesthetic 
sensations of movement under the general heading of touch; 
since we doubtless have local signs of movement distinct from 
those of the cutaneous pressure sense, and they doubtless play 
a very important part here. But they are commonly fused in 
an inextricable way with the pressure sensations, so that a 
separate treatment of them seems hardly necessary in a sketch 
of this kind. 

A Caution. — A warning must be held out at this point 
against the fallacy of supposing that in learning his space 
world a child uses these local signs in any very reflective 
way. He does not say to himself: "That movement of 



l8o PSYCHOLOGY 

localisation was inaccurate because I used the wrong local 
sign to control it." He generally employs the "try, try again 
method/' until he hits the mark. But his success carries 
with it a recollection of the total feeling of the successful 
experience, and in this total feeling the local sign element is 
an indispensable part, even though the child is not himself 
definitely cognisant of the fact. 

The simultaneous stimulation of a group of these local 
signs gives us the extensity feeling of touch, and when the 
impressions come from three-dimensional objects we get, 
through our motor reactions upon them, experiences of change 
of motion in three cardinal directions. This seems to be the 
basis of our tactual tri-dimensionality. 

Delicacy of Touch. — In normal persons touch falls far 
behind vision in its spatial nicety of function, and far behind 
its possible capacities, as is shown by the astonishing accuracy 
of blind persons, who do not, however, seem to be notably 
more accurate than seeing persons as regards the parts of the 
body which are not used for tactual exploration, e. g., the 
forearms and the back. But despite its lesser delicacy, touch- 
movement undoubtedly plays an important role during child- 
hood in furnishing interpretative checks upon our visual 
estimates of large areas and great distances. The visual per- 
ception of a mile, for instance, gets a practical meaning for 
us largely through our walking over the distance. More- 
over, although vision so largely displaces touch in our actual 
spatial judgments, touch always retains a sort of refereeship. 
When we doubt the accuracy of our visual perceptions we are 
likely, whenever possible, to refer the case to touch, and the 
verdict of this sense we commonly accept uncritically. 

Peculiarities of Vision.- — Vision resembles the non-spatial 
senses of smell and hearing in one particular which marks 
it off characteristically from touch. Touch sensations we 
commonly refer to the surface of the body itself, although 
when we tap with a cane, or a pencil, we seem to have a 



SPATIAL AND TEMPORAL RELATIONS l8l 

curious kind of projection of part of our sensations out to the 
farther tip of the object. Visual objects we always place out- 
side ourselves. Even our after-images gotten with closed eyes 
often seem to float in a space vaguely external to ourselves. 

It seems necessary to assume a system of local signs for 
vision, comparable to those of touch-movement, although 
doubtless more complex. It must be admitted, however, that 
introspection is much more uncertain in its deliverances here, 
than in the case of touch, and we shall be on somewhat spec- 
ulative ground in assuming the nature of this visual local 
signature. It seems probable that this attribute of sensa- 
tions from the periphery of the retina consists primarily in 
reflex impulses, or tendencies, to movement toward the fovea, 
the fovea itself furnishing a peculiar sense quality which 
serves more or less as a fixed point of reference. Certain it 
is that stimulation of any part of the retina tends to release 
movements turning the fovea toward the stimulus. Moving 
objects are especially eflective in producing such movements. 

The incessant and complicated movements of the eyes 
over the visual field must speedily render the relation of 
the various retinal points as conjoined by movements, intri- 
cate in the highest degree. But such relations as exist must 
pretty clearly rest on the intermediation of movements Avith 
their motor and retinal effects upon consciousness; and it 
seems probable, therefore, that the space value of any retinal 
point comes to be determined by the position it occupies 
in such a system of movements. Thus, a point 20° to the 
right of the fovea in the visual field comes to mean to us 
a definite kind of motor impulse. One 20° to the left, 
another kind of impulse, etc. Whether the visual local sign 
is actually this sort of a fused retinal-kinsesthetic affair or 
not, there can be no doubt that, as adults, we have a remark- 
ably accurate sense of the general space relations of the objects 
in the field of view, and that we can turn our eyes with 
unhesitating accuracy to any part of this field. Moreover, 



lS2 PSYCHOLOGY 

experiments have shown that the behaviour of the eye move- 
ments depends upon the condition of the entire visual field. 
For instance, the eyes are ordinarily more stable in their 
muscular balance when looking at a field where a considerable 
complexity of detail is discernible than when the surface is 
plain. Their movements in dim light are much less well 
balanced and coordinated than in a bright light. 

The Binocular Conditions of Single Vision. — In the 
chapter on sensation we explained the processes of accommo- 
dation and convergence by which the eyes are turned together 
towards any object we desire to see and the rays of light from 
it focussed so as to produce a clear image on the retina. Fig- 
ure 55 illustrates the conditions under which we receive 
either single or double impressions from any given stimulus. 
When the fovege of the two retinae are stimulated, as in 
ordinary convergence upon an object, we always see a single 
object. If two tubes ten inches or thereabouts in length be 
supplied with thin white paper caps fastened smoothly over 
the ends, an interesting demonstration of this statement can 
easily be made. Upon each of the paper caps mark a straight 
black line corresponding to a diameter. Then hold the tubes 
parallel to one another in front of the eyes and look into 
the open ends. This will insure the stimulation of the fovea 
of each eye by the line across the end of its own tube. If 
the lines be in a position of parallelism with one another, 
their images will swim together into a single line. If they be 
held at an angle to one another, they will appear as a single 
figure forming a cross of one or another form. If the caps 
be given very different and complex figures, we shall generally 
see first one and then the other of the figures, but while the 
tubes are parallel we never see two separate objects. This 
last phenomenon is known as retinal rivalry. 

Each point on each retina has a point Iniown as its 
"^corresponding point" on the other retina which, if stimu- 
lated with it, leads to single vision. The stimulation of 



SPATIAL AND TEMPORAL RELATIONS 183 

non-corresponding points produces double images or blurred 
vision, as the case may be. The legend under figure 55 will 
make clear the details. 




Fig. 55. The two lower circles 
represent the retinal surfaces 
of the two eyes as seen from 
behind. F is the fovea, B, 
the blind spot where the 
optic nerve enters the eye. 
The retinae are divided into 
four quadrants. Each quad- 
rant corresponds to its geo- 
metrically (not anatomical- 
ly) similar quadrant in the 
other eye, which bears the 
same number. The nasal 
half of one retina corres- 
ponds to the temporal half 
of the other, Corresponding 
points whose stimulation pro- 
duces single vision are lo- 
cated in geometrically sim- 
ilar quadrants. The stimu- 
lation of other than corres- 
ponding points leads t o 
either blurred or double 
vision. 

The upper part of the diagram 
represents the eyes fixated 
on the point F whose images 
fall on the two foveal re- 
gions ff and produce single 

vision. is the optic nerve. Rays of light from such 
points as E and D fall on the corresponding points ee and dd 
and also produce single vision. Such a line as EFD, or it may 
be a surface, all of whose points are seen as single, is known as 
a horopter. When the eyes are fixated on F, points like B and 
C, which lie respectively behind and in front of F, are seen 
double. The rays proceeding from them will be found in non- 
corresponding quadrants of the retinae at 66 and cc. The rays 
from B fall at b and 6 which are both inside the foveal points, 
whereas c and c are both outside these points. The former pro- 
duce 'homonomously,' the latter 'heteronomously' doubled images. 

The reality of these double images may easily be verified by holding 
up pencils in front of the face, one about a foot behind the 
other, and then fixating first on one and then on the other. 
The unfixated pencil will be seen double. If an assistant paas 
a screen in front of one of the eyes, the double image on the 
same side as the screen will disappear when the nearer pencil 
is fixated. This is the case of the 'homonomous' image. The 





l84 PSYCHOLOGY 

The Third Dimension. — Psychologists have always been 
especially interested in the problem of the visual perception of 
distance, or the third dimension. Bishop Berkeley main- 
tained in his celebrated work entitled "Essay Toward a New 
Theory of Vision" (1709), that vision cannot give us any 
direct evidence of distance, because any point in the visual 
field must affect one point and one only in the retina, and it 
can affect this no differently when it is two feet away from 
what it does when four feet away. Therefore, Berkeley con- 
cluded that our perception of visual distance is dependent 
uj)on our tactual-motor experiences. This view overlooks 
several important facts, including its plain contradiction of 
our common conviction about the matter. In the first place, 
we have two eyes, and each eye sees a part of solid objects vary- 
ing slightly from that seen by the other, as may easily be 
proved by looking at some solid object like a lead pencil with 
first one eye closed and then the other. Compare figure 55. 
The psychical percept of such objects appears to be a fusion of 
the factors supplied by the two eyes, and we get from this 
source the visual sense of solidity. The stereoscope employs 
this principle, and by giving us pictures which exaggerate 
somewhat the disparity in the point of view of the right and 
left eye affords us a most startling impression of distance and 
volume. If the pictures presented to the two eyes be exactly 
similar, we see a flat surface instead of a solid. By allowing 
each eye to see the side of the object ordinarily seen by the 
other, the pseudoscope renders hollow objects apparently solid 
and solid objects hollow. 

Furthermore, we converge our eyes more upon near points 

image in the side opposite to the screen {i. e. heteronomoua ) will 
disappear when the farther pencil is fixated. 
Such a figure as the prism EXD illustrates in an extreme form the 
facts of binocular stereoscopic vision. The right eye sees only 
the surface XD, the left eye only EX. The figure as seen by 
both eyes appears as a solid. Ordinarily there is a field comtaon 
to both eyes as in looking at a sphere. 



SPATIAL AND TEMPORAL RELATIONS 185 

than upon far, and the muscular strain thus brought about 
may serve to inform us of differences in distance. Similarly, 
the muscles controlling the lenses contract with varying 
degrees of intensity in the effort properly to focus rays of light 
from objects at different distances. Monocular vision has 
therefore a motor index of tri-dimensional properties, but it 
is extremely imperfect in practical exigencies. How far our 
consciousness of these focussing movements is significant for 
our judgments of distance it is difficult to say. But it is at 
least clear that there are factors operative other than those 
Berkeley emphasised, and the genuineness of the optical 
sense of distance can hardly be seriously questioned. The 
eye is, in short, not merely a retina, it is a binocular motor 
organ as well. Normally, therefore, visual perceptions are 
always fused stereoscopic binocular-motor experiences. 

We use in actual practice other forms of criteria for dis- 
tance. Thus, the apparent size of the object is used as a clue 
to its distance. By the apparent size of a man we may judge 
whether he be a mile or a hundred yards away. Conversely, 
when we know the distance, we can emjDloy it to form an 
estimate of the size of an object at that distance. Thus, if 
we know the approximate distance, we can be fairly sure 
whether the person we see is a man or a boy. 

The seeming size of objects runs roughly, but not precisely, 
parallel with the size of the retinal image. We make a certain 
compensation for objects at considerable distances.* 

* Much mystery has attached to the fact that the image on 
the retina is upside do\\Ti, and still we see things right side up. 
This irrelevant wonder is like marvelling how we can see a sphere, 
when the cortical cells responsible for our seeing are arranged in 
a shapeless mass. The fact is, we have no direct personal con- 
sciousness of either retina or brain cells. The psychical image is 
a thing entirely distinct from the retinal image. To speak of the 
parts of this psychical image as having one position rather than 
another is simply equivalent to saying that a certain set of motions 
is necessary to pass from one part to another of the object 
which it represents. To pass from what we call the bottom to 
the top means a certain aeries of eye movements, or hand movements, 
and so on. 



l86 PSYCHOLOGY 

The distinctness of the perceptual image is another crite- 
rion. Things seen diml}^, other things equal, are judged to be 
far away. Objects near at hand seen dimly in this way, as 
during a fog, seem much magnified in size. We have dim- 
ness, the sign of distance, conjoined with a large image, and 
we consequently judge the object to be much larger than it 
is, because of its seeming distance. The contrary form of 
this confusion is experienced by persons going into the 
mountains for the first time. The unaccustomed atmospheric 
clearness renders distant objects unwontedly distinct, and so 
they are misjudged as much nearer and much smaller than 
they really are. Color also affects. such judgments. Moun- 
tains having a greenish hue appear nearer than those of a 
violet or bluish tinge. Our judgments of distance are seri- 
ously disturbed, also, when deprived of the assistance of 
familiar intermediary objects. Persons unacquainted with the 
sea are wholly unable to guess accurately the distance of ves- 
sels or other objects across the water. Light and shadow give 
us many trustworthy indications of contour, and even the 
absolute brightness of the light seems to affect our judgment, 
bright objects seeming to be nearer than those which are less 
bright. We use these various criteria of form and distance 
habitually and without much of any conscious recognition 
of the facts upon which our perceptions are based; but that 
the factors mentioned are really operative and essential is 
shown by the changes our judgments undergo the moment 
one of them is altered. 

Inaccuracies of Space Perception. — Despite its general 
accuracy, our visual perception is subject to sundry eccentric- 
ities, the precise causes of which we cannot pause to discuss. 
In many cases, indeed, the reasons for them are far from cer- 
tain, as we intimated when discussing illusion. Most of them 
we manage to disregard in practical affairs. The upper por- 
tions of vertically symmetrical figures look larger than the 
lower portions. The printed letter S and the figure 8 



SPATIAL AND TEMPORAL RELATIONS 187 

illustrate the supplementary principle, that to make the top 
and bottom parts appear of equal size the bottom one must be 
made larger. The seeming size of objects is affected by their 
surroundings. Figures 56 and 57 illustrate this. We might 
mention many other instances, but space forbids. 

In the establishment of effective correlations among our 
several sources of space perception, there can be no question, 
as we have previously insisted, that movement is the great 
factor. Objects touched are, by the movement of the eyes, at 
the same time seen. The superposition of one object upon 
another, and the successive passing of one hand after the 
other over the things we touch, must rapidly serve to build up 



Fig. 56. The middle lines of the two figures are of equal length. 
To most observers the lower one seems shorter. This result ia 
attributed to the effect of the surrounding lines. 

elaborate space preceptions upon the foundation of local 
signs, some of which are visual and some tactual. Our space, 
as we know it in adult consciousness, is, then, a distinctly 
synthetic and relational affair, developed from two or three 
distinct sensory sources, through the intermediation of localis- 
ing and exploring movements. The unity which it possesses 
is primarily a practical unity brought about by the motor 
reactions which we make upon it. 

Space limen. — We may add for those who are interested 
in the quantitative aspect of these matters, that the limen for 
space perception in vision has generally been given at 60", 



i88 



PSYCHOLOGY 




this being the angular distance at which two lines can just 
be distinguished as two. Eecent experimenters report a far 
smaller anglC;, one observer finding the limen at 15", another 
at 2.5". In touch, the threshold for the detecting of two 
points as two is, for the finger-tips, roughly, 2 mm. The 

tongue is even more sensi- 
tive. But this can hardly be 
called the space limen with 
propriety, for single points 
are felt as having some ex- 
tension. Apart from the 
tongue, the finger-tips are 
the most delicate tactual sur- 
faces. Speaking generalh'', 
the delicacy of tactual space 
perception seems to be a 
function, first of the rich- 
ness of nervous innervation 
(those places which are most 
richly innervated being gen- 
erally most sensitive), and 
second, of practice, or 
use. 
Localisation of Souiid. — Although we may not admit that 
auditory sensations are themselves spatial, we cannot question 
that we localise sounds with considerable accuracy? In our 
view, however, this localisation occurs in the space world of 
vision-touch-movement. The two most important factors in 
the localisation of sound are, first, the relative amplitude of 
the sound waves distributed to the two ears, and, second, the 
acoustic complexity of the sound waves. If the right ear is 
more violently stimulated than the left, we locate the stimu- 
lus on the right side of the body. If the two ears are stimu- 
lated equally, we judge the sound to be somewhere in the 
median vertical plane, at right angles to the line joining 



Fig. 57. 

These figures are of equal 
size. To most persons the 
upper one appears smaller. 
One is perhaps misled by 
the disparity in length of 
the adjacent lines forming 
the top of the lower figure 
and the bottom of the 
upper one. 



SPATIAL AND TEMPORAL RELATIONS 189 

the ears. But of the precise point in this plane we are very 
uncertain. 

With sounds that have many partial tones, these tones, 
especially the higher ones, are so affected by the bones of the 
head and by the external ear, that they reach the two ears in 
distinctly different condition, save when they occur in the 
median plane. In consequence the timbre of complex sounds 
differs with their direction; and it seems quite certain that 
we employ these differences in our auditory localisation of 
direction, and possibly also of distance. Our auditory esti- 
mates of distance, however, are highly inexact. To put it 
graphically, a sound on the right side may be heard as a 
fusion of tones a-h-c-d-e-f by the right ear, whereas by the 
left ear it could only be heard as a fusion of a-h-c. Now if 
the sound be moved to a point a little to the right of straight 
back, the right ear gets a-h-c-d-e, the left ear a-b-c-d. Our 
perception of the sound is of course always a fusion of the 
increment coming from the two ears. But our illustration 
may serve to show how these differences in timbre may act 
as local indices. Eecent experiments indicate that under 
certain circumstances at least the phase in which the sound 
wave impinges upon the ear may be a determining factor 
in localisation. Most persons seem to make their localisation 
of sounds either in the form of visual imagery, or in the 
form of quasi-reflex localising movements of head and eye. 
Many animals of course employ the movements of the conch 
of the ear to make their localisations, a method rendered 
impracticable for men by reason of the atrophy of the con- 
trolling muscles. It is possible that cutaneous sensations 
from the drum membrane are of some consequence in certain 
localisations, but the evidence for this is hardly conclusive. 

Functions of Space Perception. — It is not necessary to re- 
peat the statements made in the last chapter concerning the 
general functions of perception, although they all hold true 
here. Perception is the process by which we first become 



I90 PSYCHO]X)GY 

conscious of things, or objects. In the preceding chapter we 
were chiefly engaged in analysing the peculiarities of this 
awareness of "thingness/' or "thinghood/" as it is sometimes 
called, without direct reference to the spatial and temporal 
characteristics involved in it. But it must not be forgotten 
that things are encountered as parts of a spatial and temporal 
world, and it is through our ability to perceive space re- 
lations that we are enabled to adjust ourselves to the distance, 
form and size of objects. One has but to recall the funda- 
mental nature of these spatial attributes of objects in the 
world of common daily experience to appreciate how indis- 
pensable our space perceptions are to all effective conduct. 
One incapable of discerning the size, shape and distance of 
things would be practically helpless. 

II. TIME. 

Space and Time. — Although certain of our sensations may 
not, perhaps, contribute directly to our consciousness of space, 
all of them participate in furnishing us our sense of time. 
"We are probably never wholly oblivious to the feeling of pass- 
ing time, and now and then it monopolises our entire atten- 
tion. Unlike our perception of space, however, our direct 
perception of time is a very limited, cramped sort of an 
affair. The eye permits us to range over the vast distances 
of interstellar space, but our perception of time, so far as it 
is an immediate sensory process, never gets far beyond the 
present moment. It seems to be based upon our awareness 
of the changes occurring in consciousness itself. 

Primary Characteristics of Time Perception. — We may 
perceive the passing of time, either in the form of a mere 
vague duration, or as an interval, depending upon whether we 
give our attention to the filling of the period, or to its limit- 
ing stimuli. In either case what we become aware of is never 
a mere point of time, sharply marked off from that which has 



SPATIAL AND TEMPORAL RELATIONS 191 

gone before and that which follows. It is always a conscious- 
ness of an extent of time which confronts ns, however limited 
this extent may be. 

The Specious Present. — This consciousness of the sensibly 
present moment is often referred to as the '^specious present" 
— a phrase suggested by E. E. Clay. This specious present 
seems to owe its extended nature to the fact that objects 
which have once been in consciousness do not drop out 
instantaneously^ but fade out often somewhat slowly. We 
are at any given moment, therefore, aware in the fringe of 
consciousness not only of that which a moment ago engaged 
our attention but also of that which a moment hence- is 
more fully to occupy us. This period of waning which our 
thoughts display before passing entirely out of the field of 
consciousness is often entitled the period of "primary mem- 
ory." In any case our direct perception of the passing of 
time is simply this process in which from moment to moment 
we become aware of the coming and going among our con- 
scious activities. Evidently the scope of such a perceptual 
process must be very circumscribed. As a matter of fact our 
direct, as distinguished from our indirect and inferred, con- 
sciousness of time never exceeds a few seconds. Under 
favourable conditions it may mount up to twelve seconds or 
thereabouts, but ordinarily it is much shorter. 

Factors in Direct Perception of Time. — Although all the 
senses may be employed for this purpose, hearing is the 
sense from which we gain our most accurate direct perception 
of time relations. Touch and the motor sensations rank 
next, and in actual practice generally operate with hearing. 
If we are attempting to judge accurately the length of two 
time intervals we tend strongly to tap, or make other rhythmi- 
cal movements, and our judgment is much assisted by these 
movements. The shortest interval which we can feel as a 
time period between two sounds is about 1-50 to 1-80 of a 
second. Sounds succeeding one another more rapidly than 



tg2 PSYCHOLOGY 

this we may distinguisli as qualitatively different from abso- 
lutely simultaneous sounds, but we hardly recognise them as 
temporally separate. Furthermore, we may feel as successive 
two stimuli which are objectively simultaneous. This is said 
to be true of the combination of a noise and a light sensation. 

When the auditory stimuli follow each other at the rate 
of less than 1-2 second, we seem to sense the sequence in one 
way. When they come at intervals of 1-2 second to 3 sec- 
onds, we have a different mode of reaction. These latter 
cases we feel distinctly as durations. Probably the sensory 
content of these durations is largely made up of kinesthetic 
sensations, especially from the respiratory muscles. The 
shorter intervals first mentioned we sense more as "mo- 
ments,^' although they may vary considerably in actual length. 
They are in no true sense, therefore, felt as mere points in 
time. If we compare intervals longer than three seconds we 
find ourselves beginning to employ our consciousness of the 
number of sensations, or ideas, which come into the mind. 
We tend to overestimate very small intervals and to under- 
estimate long intervals. The region of relatively correct 
judgment may be called the indifference zone. This is about 
6-10 to 7-10 of a second. 

Much as in the case of space perception, we judge richly filled 
intervals as longer than relatively vacant intervals. "Empty 
time" is a myth. We always have some consciousness of change, 
so long as we are conscious at all. We are also subject to illu- 
sions and to the effect of contrast, as in spatial processes. An 
interval seems shorter when preceded by a long interval than 
when preceded by a short one, and vice versa. An interval 
bounded by intense stimuli seems shorter than one with more 
moderate limiting stimuli. If our attention is very much 
engaged upon some expected event we may perceive it as com- 
ing before another event which it actually follows. 

Generally speaking, our consciousness of time, as such, is 
proportional to our interest and absorption in the occupation 



SPATIAL AND TEMPORAL RELATIONS 193 

of the moment. When we are bored, as in waiting for a 
train, or when ill, time drags outrageously. We may be con- 
scious of every loathsome increment in it. When, on the 
other hand, we are thoroughly interested, long intervals may 
pass as in a flash. Certain drugs, such as hashish, have a 
curious effect upon our time perception, lending a vastly 
magnified perspective to it, so that events of a moment since 
seem ages remote. Dreams often display a similar distortion. 

Indireet Time Perception. — Clearly our practical use of 
time relations depends largely on other processes than those of 
direct perception. For our consciousness of the hour, the day, 
and the year we resort to the sun and moon, to clocks, watches, 
calendars and other indirect means of information. Despite 
the fact that the subject does not bear immediately upon per- 
ception, it will be convenient to add a few words at this point 
upon one or two general features of our time consciousness. 

General Characteristics of the Apprehension of Time 
Relations.— When we recall intervals of time which belong 
to the more or less remote past, we immediately remark a 
seeming paradox. Intervals which actually passed very slowly 
for us appear retrospectively to have been very brief. Thus, 
a tedious illness, when time palled upon us almost beyond 
endurance, may in recollection seem very short, although we 
actually know it occupied weeks. Conversely, intervals which 
passed in a twinkling appear to us in memory as long drawn 
out. The reason for the paradox is obvious. Our feeling 
for the length of these remembered intervals depends upon 
the amount of content, the number of events, which we can 
read back into them. The interesting intervals are full of 
such things, whereas the tedious periods are characterised by 
a depressing sameness, which afl'ords our memory little or 
nothing to lay hold upon. 

The change which comes over our attitude towards the 
various intervals of time as we grow older is an interesting 
and familiar phenomenon. In childhood the year seems 



194 PSYCHOLOGY 

interminable, the month majestic, the week momentous, and 
even the day important, to say nothing of the hour. In adult 
years all these periods shrink, the longest ones most mark- 
edly. Our attitude towards very short intervals, like the 
second and the minute, undergoes no change of which we can 
speak confidently. 

Our notion of very remote times, whether thought of as 
past or future, is gotten in an almost wholly symbolic way, 
like our notion of vast numbers. The difference between 
2000 B. C. and 6000 B. C. is a thing for which we have a 
cold intellectual apprehension, quite distinct from our feeling 
for the difference between 1776 and 1860. 

Neural Basis of Time Perception. — We can say very little 
about the neural basis of time perception, and that little is 
largely of an inferential and speculative character. If the 
awareness of passing time rests, as we have maintained, upon 
our consciousness of the waxing and waning of the thought 
processes, there should be some fairly constant phase of the 
cortical activity corresponding to this conscious metabolism. 
We may suppose this to consist in the rising and falling of the 
pulses of neural activity throughout the various regions of 
the cortex. Time consciousness would depend, therefore, 
upon the overlapping of the activity of various groups of 
neurones. Beyond some such vague formulation as this we 
cannot go. Let it be remarked, however, that the conception, 
though vague is wholly intelligible. 

Physiological Time Sense. — In connection with the neural 
basis of time perception, we may mention two striking and 
perplexing peculiarities which many persons possess. One 
of these is the capacity for telling with great accuracy 
the precise hour, whether by day or by night, without any 
recourse to watch or clock, and without any deliberate com- 
putation or estimate. The other is the ability to awaken 
exactly at any given hour, without any preliminary 
disturbance of the soundness of sleep. Both of these 



SPATIAL AND TEMPORAL RELATIONS 195 

performances probably rest upon some sort of recognition by 
the cortical centres of the rhythm of physiological activities 
constantly in progress in the body. But after all is said, the 
matter remains something of a mystery, a mystery which is 
enhanced, rather than removed, by the familiar attempt to 
find an explanation in "subconscious" activities. It sug- 
gests certain of the experiences met with in post-hypnotic 
suggestion. Of hypnotism itself we shall have something to 
say in the final chapter of this book. 

Functions of Time Perception. — In addition to the per- 
ceptual functions already mentioned, it only remains to call 
attention explicitly to the part played by perceptions of time. 
Under the conditions of ordinary life we rely very largely 
upon the indirect means of determining time, to which refer- 
ence has been made at an earlier point. This is altogther 
natural, because our ability to discriminate with accuracy 
the longer intervals of time is notoriously imperfect. Never- 
theless, the significance of our direct awareness of the passage 
of time is well brought out by the consequences of complete 
absorption in some occupation, as a result of which we 
suddenly find that we have failed to keep an important 
engagement. In a world in which events occur in temporal 
sequence a measure of constant, or at least frequent, alert- 
ness to the flight of time is an essential precondition to 
effective conduct. The constant change in progress in the 
events of the external world is itself a vigorous corrective of 
any tendency toward entire obliviousness to the movement 
of time, for by virtue of this change we are incessantly 
subjected to fresh stimulations. Although we come to rely 
so extensively upon artificial means for determining time, 
it may be questioned whether we are ever long without a 
direct awareness of its passage. By means of space perception 
we accommodate to tlie world of tri-dimensional coexistencies. 
By means of time perception, direct and indirect, we accom- 
modate to the world of sequential events. 



CHAPTEE VIII 
IMAGINATION 

General Account of Re-presentation. — In the preceding 
chapters we have seen that even in perceptual processes where 
the sense organs are most obviously engaged, the effects of past 
experience are very conspicuous. This fact will suggest at once 
the probable difficulty of establishing any absolute line of 
demarcation between processes of perception and those which, 
in common untechnical language, we call memory and 
imagination. We shall find as we go on that this difficulty 
is greater rather than less than our first impressions would 
indicate, and it will be well to come to the matter with the 
understanding that we are examining various stages in the 
development of a common process, rather than with any 
idea of meeting entirely separate and distinct kinds of mental 
activity. We called attention to this same point at the out- 
set of our analysis of the cognitive functions. 

Our study of habit brought out clearly the strong tendency 
of the nervous system to repeat again and again any action 
with which it has once successfully responded to a stimulus. 
The undoubted retention by the nervous organism of the 
modifications impressed upon it by the impact of the phy- 
sical world, in what we call experience, is commonly desig- 
nated " organic memory," and forms beyond question the phy- 
siological basis of conscious memory. Thus, in perception, as 
we have just seen, the sensory nerves may bring in excita- 
tions of as novel a character as you please, but the brain 
insists on responding to these stimulations in ways suggested 
by its previous experience. That is to say, it repeats in part 



IMAGINATION Ip7 

some previous cerebral action. Similarly, we observe that 
from time to time thoughts flit through our minds which 
we have had before. This we may feel confident, from the 
facts we examined in chapter II, means a repetition in 
some measure of the cortical activities belonging to an earlier 
experience. Sometimes these thoughts are what we call 
memories, i. e., they are thoughts of events in our past lives 
which we recognise as definitely portraying specific experi- 
ences. Sometimes they are what we call creations of fancy 
and imagination. But even in this case we shall find it dif- 
ficult to convince ourselves that the materials of which such 
thoughts are constituted have not come to us, like those of 
clearly recognised memories, from the store-house of our past 
lives. 

Although we shall postpone the detailed examination of 
memory until the next chapter, and must therefore anticipate 
somewhat the full proof of our assertion, we may lay down the 
general principle at once, that all psychophysical activity 
involves a reinstatement, in part at least, of previous psycho- 
physical processes. Stated in terms of mental life alone, and 
reading the principle forward instead of backward, it would 
stand thus : all the conscious processes of an individual enter 
as factors into the determination of his subsequent conscious 
activities. With this general conception in mind, we have 
now to analyse the special form of representation known as 
imagination. 

General Befinition of Imagination. — The term imagina- 
tion, in its ordinary use, is apt to suggest the fanciful and 
the unreal, the poetic and the purely aesthetic. "VVe speak in 
this way of great poems as "works of imagination." We 
describe certain persons as of imaginative temperament when 
they are subject to romantic flights of fancy, etc. These 
implications are of course properly a part of the meaning of 
the word, when employed in its usual untechnical sense. But 
the psychologist uses the term in a broader way than this. In 



198 PSYCHOLOGY 

the preceding chapter we discussed the consciousness of 
objects present to the senses. Imagination, in the psycholo- 
gist's meaning, might be called the consciousness of objects 
not present to sense. Thus, we can imagine a star which we 
do not see; we can imagine a melody which we do not hear, 
an odour which we do not actually smell, etc. Stated in the 
more usual way, imagination consists in the ideational revival 
of previous sensory excitations. Speaking broadly, both per- 
ception and imagination evidently involve the consciousness 
of objects, and their primary distinction from one another 
is to be found in the physiological fact that one arises 
immediately from a sense organ stimulation, while the other 
does not. 

The principal psychical differences we pointed out in a 
previous chapter. The perceptual consciousness, which is 
peripherally originated, is almost invariably more vivid, 
enduring, detailed, and distinct than the centrally initiated 
process of imagination, and seems to be more coercive, to 
be somehow more definitely " given " to us. Imagery is 
generally more vacillating, more fragmentary and perhaps 
less provocative of movement. But the similarity of the 
one process to the other is quite as obvious, and quite as 
important, as their difference. This fact is well brought out 
by the familiar experience in which a new and fascinating 
melody 'runs in the head.' All day long we are obliged to 
hear it mentally, and from time to time we are irresistibly 
impelled to sing it or whistle it. Finally it wears out and 
disappears. 

The stuff, so to speak, out of which visual imagination is 
made is apparently qualitatively the same kind of material 
as that out of which visual perception is made. Indeed, when 
we describe imagination as a consciousness of objects, we have 
already suggested that which is really the fact, i. e., that all 
imagination is based in one way or another upon previous 
perceptual activities, and consequently the psychical material 



IMAGINATION 199 

which we meet in imagination is all of a piece with the 
material M^hich perception brings to us, and altogether like 
it, save that in imagination the fabric is often much faded 
and sometimes much cut up and pieced. So far as we approx- 
imate pure sensations in sense experience, so far do we have 
images reinstating approximately pure qualities as distinct 
from objects. Images of warmth, for instance, may have 
in them relatively little suggestion of objective character. 

Analysis of Imagination. (A) Content. — If we were to ask 
a dozen persons to think of a rose for a few moments, and 
then relate for us the ideas which had passed through their 
minds, we should find that some of them had at once secured 
a mental picture of the rose in which the colour and the form 
were represented with considerable accuracy and detail. 
These persons evidently got visual images of the rose. Others 
would have found that the word " rose " came at once into 
mind, followed by other words such as " American Beauty," 
" red,'^ " bud," etc. These words would, perhaps, have been 
Jieard mentally, and together with this mental hearing the 
more acute observers would report for us a similar conscious- 
ness of the sensations of movement which arise from the 
throat and lips when one is enunciating the words. This 
group of persons would have experienced auditory and motor 
imagery. Still others would report a faint consciousness of 
the odour of the rose, which involves olfactory imagery; and 
a few might tell us that they fancied they got tactual images, 
such as would arise from the thought of touching the soft 
petals. It might occur, although we should find this result 
rare, that some individual would report all of these images as 
passing through his mind in sequence. 

It has been asserted that we have no genuine motor, or 
kinsesthetic, images, because every attempt to think of a 
movement results in our actually making the movement in a 
rudimentary way; so that we get a kinaesthetie sensation 
instead of a kinsesthetic image. There can be no doubt that 



200 PSYCHOLOGY 

this is often the case; e. g., the effort to think how the word 
" back " sounds will by most persons be found to be accom- 
panied by definite sensations in the tongue and throat. More- 
over, there can be no doubt that the normal tendency is that 
kinsesthetic ideational excitement should produce movement, 
like other forms of ideational process. Meantime, there seems 
to be no reason in the nature of the case why we may not 
have kingesthetie images in a form definitely distinguishable 
from the kingesthetie sensations to which they may lead; and 
many observers insist that their introspection verifies the 
reality of these images. 

According to the commonly accepted doctrine there are, 
theoretically at least, as many kinds of images as there are 
sense organs. If our experiment be amplified and a large 
number of persons be submitted to it, we shall find that it 
is much easier for most persons to secure with confidence 
accurate and reliable images of the visual, auditory, and 
motor varieties than it is to secure those of the gustatory, 
thermal, organic, and olfactory types. Tactual images seem 
to form a transition in difficulty of attainment from one 
class to the other. Later on we shall inquire into the prob- 
able reason for these differences. Moreover, we should find 
in the same way, if we gathered statistics upon the subject 
as others have done, that many persons, even though they 
can with sufficient effort command various forms of images, 
actually have their imagination in its ordinary use dominated 
by some one or two forms. From this observation has arisen 
the recognition of mental " types,'^ and currency has been 
given to the division into '''visiles," "audiles," "tactiles," 
"motiles," etc. 

These types are, as we have just pointed out, seldom or 
never absolutely exclusive of one another. But they indi- 
cate the prevalent form of mental material. With most of 
us there appears to be a relatively good representation of 
several forms, especially the visual, auditory, tactual, and 



IMAGINATION 20I 

motor. In any event we find that specific images of one kind 
or another always constitute the content, the material, of 
imagination. 

Image and Idea. — It may serve to clarify the terminology 
employed from this point on, if we pause to distinguish tenta- 
tively between the terms image and idea. So far as in our 
descriptions we have in mind the sensuous content of a 
thought, e. g., its visual or auditory character, we use the 
term image. So far as we wish to emphasise in addition to, 
or in distinction from, this fact of sensuous constitution the 
purport, significance, or meaning of the image, we use the 
term idea. Images and ideas do not refer to two different 
states of consciousness, but to one and the same state, looked 
at now from the side of sensory character and antecedents, 
now from the side of meaning. Moreover, the two aspects 
vary from time to time in their relative prominence. Some- 
times there is present to consciousness very little save the 
awareness of meaning. On other occasions the sensuous 
detail is profuse and noticeable. The matter will be dis- 
cussed more fully in our analysis of the concept. 

It should also be reiterated that in speaking of images as 
though they were distinct mental events, we do not mean to 
imply that the image constitutes the whole of consciousness 
at any given moment; nor that thought is made up of dis- 
connected bits of stuff called images. We are simply indulg- 
ing the kind of abstraction in which we frankly announced 
our purpose to indulge. Images merely represent, on the 
cognitive side, the more substantive moments in the onward 
flow of consciousness. They rise by indiscernible gradations 
out of antecedent conscious processes, and fade away into 
their successors without a vestige of abrupt separation. More- 
over, any given image is merged in a setting of sensory proc- 
esses representing the momentary bodily conditions, attitudes, 
etc., of which we made mention in discussing the physiologi- 
cal accompaniments of attention. 



202 PSYCHOLOGY 

(B) Mode of Operation of Imagination. — If we watch the 
play of our images under different conditions, we observe 
regardless of the sense department to which they belong, cer- 
tain marked peculiarities which evidently call for separate 
classification of some kind. In dreams, for example, there 
often appears to be the utmost chaos in the fashion in which 
the images succeed one another; and when we have regard 
to their composition and character, they occasionally seem 
to be utterly novel and bizarre inventions, the like of which 
we have never known in waking experience. The hobgoblins 
of nightmares, with their inconsequential torments, are illus- 
trations of this sort of thing. On the other hand, in revery 
our minds occasionally wander o£E amid trains of images 
which are coherent in their relations to one another, and 
which evidently spring from recognisable experiences, of 
which they are in a measure faithful representations. Thus, 
the recollections of a journey may pass through our minds, 
diversified by excursions into connected fields of thought 
suggested by the various incidents of the trip. Can it be 
that these two forms of imagination are really identical? 
Is the process which brings back to mind the recollection of 
the sound of the multiplication table one and the same in 
kind with that which leads to the sudden perfection of an 
invention, or the inspiration of a fine verse? To answer this 
question in even a provisional way requires a closer exam- 
ination of these two forms of imagination, to which psy- 
chologists have assigned the names "reproductive" and 
" productive " respectively. 

Reproductive Imagination. — Eeproductive imagination 
consists in the representation of perceptions, or images, which 
have previously appeared in our consciousness. Thus, I may 
close my eyes and obtain a visual image of the desk at which 
I am writing. Such an image would illustrate what psy- 
chologists mean by reproductive imagery, inasmuch as my 
imagination would in this case simply repeat, or reinstate. 



IMAGINATION 203 

some conscious experience wliich has previously been present 
in my mind. Evidently at this rate the great mass of the 
events which we are able to remember would be recalled by 
means of reproductive imagination. Our ordinary memory 
processes would be instances of reproductive imagination, or, 
as it is sometimes called, re-presentation. 

Productive Imagination. — Productive imagination on the 
other hand involves the appearance in consciousness of 
images which have never before entered the mind in their 
present order and form. Thus, the visual image of an eight- 
legged dog might be called up, although it is reasonably cer- 
tain that most of us have never seen such an animal, nor 
even a picture of it. Such an image would illustrate, in a 
rough way, what is meant by productive, or constructive, 
imagination. 

Now it is a favourite conceit of the untutored mind to 
suppose that it is possible mentally to create absolutely new 
materials for ideas, that it is possible to burst over the bounds 
of one's past experience and beget thoughts which are wholly 
novel. This is a flattering delusion which a little reflection 
will effectually dispel, although there is a distorted truth 
underlying the vanity of the belief. 

In the case of the eight-legged dog it is clear that, although 
we may never have encountered just such a creature in any 
of our adventures, the superfluous legs with which we have 
endowed him, which constitute his sole claim to novelty, are 
merely as legs familiar items in every experience with the 
canine breed. 

The productivity of our imagination consists, therefore, in 
the modest feat of putting together in a new way materials 
olL a thoroughly familiar kind. Although in many instances 
the process is less purely mechanical than in the illustration 
above, there is, and can be, no question of our having 
originated de novo fresh elements of the psychical imagery. 
We shall find a similar thing true of any instance we might 



204 PSYCHOLOGY 

examine in which a genius has created a new poem, a new- 
statue, a new melody or symphony, a new machine, or a 
new commercial process. Often the result is achieved by 
inspiration as we say. It is not consciously thought out. 
This is true of the great works of art, whether in literature 
or the plastic arts. At other times the result may issue 
from persistent thought processes which we should ordinarily 
call reasoning. The so-called scientific use of imagination 
is largely of this kind. In each and every case, startling 
as is the result, and novel as may be the combination in its 
entirety, the elements which have been thus ingeniously 
juxtaposed are all of them drawn in one way or another from 
the richness of the individual's previous experience. 

The point mentioned earlier in the chapter must be borne 
in mind here, i. e., that in the use of our imagery sensuous 
detail often drops largely into the background, leaving us its 
meaning as the conspicuous thing. But in this instance 
there is also intimate dependence upon previous knowledge. 
Productive imagination is productive, therefore, only within 
the limits set by the possibility of combining in new ways 
the materials of past states of consciousness, and in discern- 
ing among them relations previously unnoticed. But such 
limitations, be it said, afford scope for an amount of orginal- 
ity and creative fertility which far surpass any human 
accomplishment thus far recorded. 

When we give free rein to imagination and allow it to 
run undirected, the process is sometimes known as fancy. 
When the thought is directed and made subservient to some 
persistent purpose, we should commonly speak of the process 
as thinking, reasoning or reflecting. In such mental activities 
there will naturally be the most complicated intermingling 
of imagery elements of the productive and reproductive kinds. 

Relation of Productive to Reproductive Imagination. — 
It appears at once from the foregoing statement that in 
one sense all productive imagination is really reproductive; 



IMAGINATION 205 

and that in consequence we have in the last analysis only one 
form of relation obtaining between our present imagery and 
our previous consciousness. Strictly speaking this is undoubt- 
edly true. The differences which attract our attention 
to the seemingly distinct modes of imagination are primar- 
ily differences in the degree to which any given image, or any 
sequence of images, actually correspond to the entirety of 
some antecedent conscious event in our lives. When the cor- 
respondence is obvious, we think of the imagery as reproduc- 
tive. When it is not, we are likely to credit it with creative 
characteristics, and justly so, within the limits which we 
have designated. It only remains to notice one peculiarity 
about reproductive imagery which serves to modify some- 
what the purport of our conclusion. 

It is altogether problematical whether any image is ever 
in a thorough-going way a mere reinstatement, or repetition, 
of a previous perception or image. I may to-day, for 
example, think by means of an auditory-motor image of the 
word psychology ; I may do exactly the same thing to-morrow, 
and I shall then speak of having had the same image on two 
occasions. But it is clear in the first place that I cannot 
prove the two images to be really alike; for I can never get 
them side by side in my mind for comparison. When one 
is there, the other has gone, or has not yet arrived, as the 
case may be. Furthermore, if we turn to the considerations 
which we canvassed when we discussed the operations of the 
cerebral cortex, we shall find reason for thinking that no two 
images ever can be quite alike. For we saw that our con- 
sciousness, in which these images appear, and of which they 
are a part, apparently runs parallel with the brain activities; 
and it is quite certain that the brain, through its constant 
change of structure and tension, is never twice in precisely 
the same condition; and consequently is never in a position 
to lead twice to the same excitation of consciousness. 

On the whole, then, it is perhaps nearer the truth to saj 



2o6 PSYCHOLOGY 

that all imagination is productive, rather than reproductive. 
When we speak of having had the same image on several 
occasions, what we really mean is that we have had in this 
way images which we employed to refer to the same object. 
They have thus served our purpose quite as efficiently as 
they could have done by being actual copies, the one of the 
other. 

The same thing is more obviously true as regards any image 
which purports to represent a perception. Functionally, as 
regards what it does for us, what it symbolises, it really does 
reinstate the perception; but it is not on this account neces- 
sarily an exact copy of the perception. 

The distinction between reproductive and productive im- 
agination must not, therefore, be conceived of as resting on 
ultimate differences. It marks a practical distinction, i. e., 
in the degree to which present thoughts resemble previous 
thoughts, which is useful in enabling us to indicate signifi- 
cant variations in the operations of our imagery. 

Successive Association of Images and Ideas. — This is a 
convenient point at which to consider the principles con- 
trolling the sequence of our ideas and images, as they pass 
through the mind. The so-called law of association, which 
has played historically so important a part in psychology, 
undertakes to formulate the facts under a single general 
principle, i. e., the principle of habit. We have mentioned 
in an earlier chapter the phenomenon known as simultaneous 
association. The process which we are to examine at this 
juncture is designated successive association. 

The law of association asserts that whenever two images, 
or ideas, have been at any time juxtaposed in the mind, there 
is a tendency, if the first of them recurs, for the other to 
come with it. 

Experiments seem to show that there is also a tendency for 
the first idea to appear if the second be present in con- 
sciousness. That is to say, the associative nexus works in 



IMAGINATION 207 

a measure backwards as well as forwards. Stated more gen- 
erally it means that a part of any total train of thought is 
likely if brought to mind to reinstate the whole. Further- 
more^, the law asserts that so far as concerns the sequence' 
of ideationally aroused imagery, no image ever comes into 
the foreground of consciousness unless it has been in some 
way connected with its immediate predecessor. The order 
of our thoughts is, in short, determined by our antecedent 
experience. 

It is clear to the most casual reflection that this principle, 
if true, must operate under a number of definite limitations. 
"We know, for example, that a given idea comes into the mind 
on one day with a certain set of accompaniments, and on 
another occasion presents itself with a wholly different escort. 

Principles Controlling' Association: A. Neural Basis. — ■ 
How is such a variation to be accounted for? It is gen- 
erally agreed nowadays that the retention or preservation 
of associative tendencies is primarily a property of neural 
processes. It is a physiological thing. When the ideas are 
actually recalled, mental processes are also involved and the 
act is a psychophysical one. If we follow James in formu- 
lating the associative relation in brain terms, we may say 
that the liability of any special cortical activity, such as x, 
connected with the thought x", to arouse any other cortical 
activity, such as y, connected with the thought y^, is propor- 
tional to the 'permeability of the pathway joining the brain 
areas involved in the production of x and y, as compared with 
the permeability of all the other pathways leading from the 
brain area involved in x to other regions of the cortex. 
(Figure 58.) Kow this permeability must be largely a func- 
tion of previous use; that is to say, pathways which have by 
repeated employment become deep-cut in the brain tissues 
will, other things equal, be most pervious. Stated in purely 
psychological terms, this will mean that the oftener any two 
ideas have actually been associated with one another, the 



2o8 



PSYCHOLOGY 



more chance there will be that if the first one appears in con- 
sciousness, the second one will accompany it. Moreover, in 
so far as the principle of association depends upon the law 
of habit in the cortex (and this undoubtedly is its founda- 
tion), it must apply to all forms of psychic life, as well as 
to ideas and images. This is, indeed, the fact, as we shall dis- 
cover in our further study. But it is convenient to formulate 
the principle, as has been historically the accepted usage, in con- 
nection with ideas where its operation is particularly obvious. 
B. Effect of Frequency, Intensity, and Recency of Asso- 
ciation. — Among the many 
factors which must affect the 
permeability of the brain 
paths, three important ones 
are easily discernible. These 
are the frequency, intensity, 
and recency of associative 
connection.* Ideas which 
have been frequently asso- 
ciated evidently must be 
connected with neural ac- 
tivities which will tend, if 
once roused, to react in the 
regular habitual way. The 
ideas of Lincoln and the 
Civil War may serve to illus- 
trate such frequent con- 
junctions. Ideas which have 
been connected with one 
another in some vivid expe- 
rience will be connected with 
intense neural activities. 




Fig. 58. Although, pathways exist 
connecting the brain process 
as with the brain processes a, 
h, c, d, and y, if the pathway 
from X to y is more pervious 
than the others, the activity of 
X will be followed by the 
activity of y. 



* It will be remembered that in chapter VI we noticed a similar 
group of factors influencing the formation of certain illusory per- 
ceptions. 



IMAGINATION 209 

whose modifications of the brain tissues will therefore 
tend to be relatively deep and permanent. People who have 
witnessed a great conflagration or a great disaster of any 
kind, especially if they were personally endangered, find the 
ideas of it welded firmly together. Often such experiences 
can be mentally reinstated with almost their original vivid- 
ness and detail. Similarly, if two images have been recently 
associated, the pathways joining the brain tracts responsible 
for their accompanying cortical activities are likely to be 
open; and the recurrence of the first image may readily bring 
with it the reinstatement of the second. The idea of the 
presidency of the United States will to-day most often call 
up the idea of Koosevelt. Our illustrations may seem to be 
too exclusively suggestive of associations set up originally 
between perceptual processes, and to take too little account 
of associations established primarily between ideas. But the 
principles involved are the same and equally valid whether 
they are applied to perceptual or ideational conditions. 

C. Influence of Context. — In actual experience associated 
ideas belong to more or less related trains of thought and the 
entire context helps to determine which of several possible 
ideas shall appear at a given moment. If the idea 7 times 
9 pops into my head, it is promptly followed by the idea 63. 
If, however, 4 times 9 comes to my mind, the next idea is 
36. In both cases the idea 9 is present, but the subsequent 
associate depends upon the special companion with which the 
idea 9 is united in the antecedent thought process. In a 
similar fashion our memory of special words in poetry 
depends upon the total mass of verbal associates with which 
they are surrounded. The word " mirth " occurs in two of 
the following lines, and taken alone might suggest either of 
the following groups of words. Taken with its predecessors 
it rarely fails to awaken its correct consequents. 

"And, if I give thee honour due, 
Mirth, admit me of thy crew, 



2IO PSYCHOLOGY 



"These 
Mirth 



delights if thou canst give, 
, with thee I mean to live." 



In cases of this kind the association is often between motor 
reactions of enunciation, rather than between the images of 
the words. We simply find ourselves making the proper 
enunciatory movements and that is the end of it. 

Eelated to the general influence of context is a distinc- 
tion which Miss Calkins has pointed out. In certain 
associative sequences the image which comes into the mind 
entirely displaces the one which previously held sway. She 
calls this type of case desistent association. Our illustrations 
have been chiefly of this type. In other cases, however, a 
part only of the departing image is lost, the rest being taken 
up into the new image which succeeds it. This she calls 
persistent association. For example, in revery the image 
of a face may come before the mind. Without undergoing 
other change, it may presently be seen as dark instead of 
fair. This analysis seems to touch upon a real distinction 
and the last illustration suggests the case of association by 
similarity of which mention will be made presently. But the 
distinction clearly introduces no basal alteration into the 
general nature of the principle controlling the ideational 
sequences. 

D. Interest and Emotional Conditions. — It remains to 
remark one further factor of probably greater importance 
than those already mentioned in its effect in determining 
what associates shall. recur with an idea at any given time. 
The factors mentioned hitherto bear principally upon the 
conditions controlling the original fixation of the association. 
The present factor refers in part to this, but more imme- 
diately to the circumstances attending the revival, the recall, 
of the train of thought. This is our momentary interest, 
the prevailing tendency of our attention. If our minds 
are dominantly engaged upon any line of thought, as when 
we are wrapt up in some absorbing problem, or plunged in 



IMAGINATION 211 

some profound emotion, the ideas which flood our minds are 
almost wholly such as sustain intimate relations to the mat- 
ter in hand. When we are overcome by sorrow all our 
thoughts centre about our grief. Ko other thoughts can 
gain a hearing from us. And the same thing is true in 
varying degree of any intense mental preoccupation. The 
continuity of our interest is therefore an influence of abso- 
lutely prime importance, accounting readily for the omission, 
as well as for the inclusion, of those ideas which we find in 
point of fact have actually been omitted from, or conjoined 
in, associative combinations. We see, then, that the principle 
of association, or cortical habit, is modified, not only by the 
changing relations among the factors of past experience 
already mentioned, e. g., such as frequency and recency, but 
also by the present psychophysical conditions reflected in 
such things as our attention and interest. This means, so 
far as concerns the brain, that those pathways are normally 
most pervious which connect most intimately with the entire 
mass of ongoing brain processes. The astonishing vagaries 
of dream consciousness illustrate what may occur when all 
dominating purpose is removed and the associative machinery 
is allowed to run wild and uncontrolled. 

E. Contiguity, Similarity, Contrast, Cause and Effect, — 
Psychologists have been interested in various types of asso- 
ciation, which they have called association by contiguity, 
association by similarity, contrast, cause and effect, and the 
like. They are all reducible to the forms previously men- 
tioned, but their prominence historically renders it expedient 
to dwell on them briefly. 

Association by contiguity is essentially identical with cer- 
tain of the processes of which we have been speaking here- 
tofore. A suggests B, not because of any internal connection, 
but because the two have often been contiguous to one 
another. This contiguity is originally perceptual in char- 
acter. The objects are actually present together to the 



212 PSYCHOLOGY 

physical senses. Events related to one another as cause and 
effect are commonly experienced in this way. All association 
is primarily dependent upon the contiguity of perceptual 
objects, as will be readily apprehended when the dependency 
of images upon perceptions is recalled. It must not be for- 
gotten that objects perceived together ordinarily share in 
whatever interest may at the moment be dominant. Conse- 
quently it is probably rare that contiguity as a determinant 
of association operates independently of interest. 

Ideas apparently follow one another at times, however, 
which could not have been previously experienced together, 
and in certain of these cases we remark at once that the two 
things suggested by the ideas are similar, contain an internal 
element of connection. "We meet a total stranger, perhaps, 
and instantly observe the similarity to some absent friend. 
Poetry owes much of its witchery and charm to the delicate 
and unusual resemblances which the poet detects for us, as 
when he says: 

"So gladly, from the songs of modern speech 
Men turn, ..... 

And through the music of the languid hours. 
They hear, like ocean on a Western beach 
The surge and thunder of the Odyssey." 

All the more conspicuous forms of genius seem highly 
endowed with this type of association, which is undoubtedly 
a genuine form of mental activity. We shall err only if we 
suppose the consciousness of similarity to be the invariable 
antecedent of the association. As a matter of fact we often 
observe the similarity after the association has occurred, not 
before, as should be the case if it were strictly speaking a 
cause. But this is not always the case. For example, we 
frequently see strangers upon the street who look familiar to 
us, yet it may require several moments of reflection before 
we can recall the persons of whom they remind us. A number 
of psychologists have suggested that the brain activities 



IMAGINATION 213 

involved in thoughts of two similar things are in part identical, 
and that consequently we have in their suggestion of one 
another a further instance of the principle of cortical habit. 
(Figure 59.) The brain processes x and y, having the simi- 
lar thoughts x^ and y^ as their concomitants, possess a common 
brain activity z. When x is active, there is thus a chance that 
the excitation of z may stir up y, to which z also belongs. 
Oftentimes the elements of likeness between two objects are 
several, as in cases of personal resemblance. On other occa- 
sions the resemblance may reduce to a single element. But 
the principle of explanation is the same in either case. 




Fig. 59. 

Association by contrast is really a modification of the con- 
tiguity and similarity classes. Things are not felt as con- 
trasting unless they have some element of likeness, and to 
feel this likeness and difference commonly involves experienc- 
ing them together, as when we come to remark the contrast 
of black with white. 

Even if no factors were operative in association, other 
than those we have already mentioned, we should find it 
practically impossible ever to predict with confidence what 
particular idea would come into the mind at any special 
moment. The law of association is not, therefore, a principle 
of 'prediction, but simply a formula for rendering intelligible 



214 PSYCHOLOGY 

in a schematic way the nature of the influences which con- 
trol the order of our thoughts. 

Neural Basis of Imagery. — Two divergent views are held 
as to the neural basis of imagery. We have already referred 
to these. The one maintains that imagery depends upon the 
activity of the same cortical regions that are involved in per- 
ception. The neural distinction between them is supposed to 
rest chiefly on differences in the intensity of the nervous 
excitation, coupled with a varying amount of difference in 
the extent to which the association areas are involved. The 
other view holds that the cortical regions involved are prob- 
ably different in some important particulars, the areas con- 
cerned in the imagery processes of each of the senses lying 
perhaps along the borders of the regions devoted to the re- 
ception of the corresponding sense stimulations. This latter 
view is based largely on the implication of certain clinical 
cases already cited of persons who could perceive correctly 
without being able to call into mind images. This evidence 
the defenders of the view reinforce by other more ambiguous 
clinical facts and by their introspective conviction of a 
difference in the mental quality of the two states. The ques- 
tion must be regarded as still open, although the author 
feels that other interpretations of the clinical cases are pos- 
sible than those adduced by the supporters of the second view. 
In any case it seems certain that the recognised sensory areas 
are involved to some extent in all ordinary processes of 
imagination, and the regions of the brain concerned can be 
identified by consulting chapter II. 

Genesis and Function of Imagery. — The best clue to a 
correct understanding of the function of the image is to be 
gained, as in the case of all organic activities, when possible, 
by examining the conditions of its genesis, its appearance 
upon the field of psychophysical processes. 

In several of the preceding chapters we have examined the 
evidence underlying our thesis, that consciousness appears 



IMAGINATION 215 

at those points where the purely physiological mechanisms of 
the organism prove inadequate to cope with the requirements 
of its life. We have seen how the organism is endowed at 
birth with certain established sensory-motor neural pathways, 
by means of which it is enabled to respond with appropriate 
movements to certain primitive kinds of stimuli. We have 
also seen how, at the places where these responses are found 
insufficient, sensory consciousness appears; and we find, first, 
vague sensation processes, and then crude perception. In 
our study of attention, we noticed how the mind, working 
upon this crude perceptual matrix, succeeds in differentiating 
it into the multitude of qualities and objects which con- 
stitute the world of the adult. In seeking to detect the 
appearance and the function of imagery, we must remember, 
then, that from the outset of life organic activities are in 
progress and the sensory-motor activities in particular are 
in full swing. Each sensory stimulus is producing move- 
ments, which in turn are productive of fresh sensations. 
It is out from such a cycle of onward moving coordinations 
as these, therefore, that the image emerges ; and if our previ- 
ous hypothesis is really adequate to all the facts, it must be 
that the image is called forth by some need of the organism 
which the processes that we have already described are incom- 
petent to satisfy. This is undoubtedly the case, and we have 
only to observe the evident limitations in the capacities of 
the perceptual processes, taken by themselves, to discern cer- 
tain of the functions which our images subserve. 

Perception enables its possessor to register in consciousness 
the particular object momentarily presented to the senses. 
But if consciousness never advanced beyond the merely per- 
ceptual stage, it is apparent that we could never develop any 
highly systematised and intelligent movements of response 
to environmental demands and opportunities. Intelligent 
deliberation would be impossible. We should always live in 
the immediate present, and our minds could consciously look 



2i6 PSYCHOLOGY 

neither backward nor forward. Now it is in the image, with 
its ability to carry such prosjoective and retrospective mean- 
ings that we find the psychical mechanism for accomplishing 
both these highly important functions. 

If an organism is to be in the fullest possible measure 
master of its own fate, it must be able to bring to bear upon 
the incitations of any particular stimulus all the informa- 
tion which its total experience will permit. Its response 
must thus represent not only the intrinsic tendency to overt 
action, which belongs to the stimulus itself, but it must also 
represent and express all the tendencies to movement which 
remain as the result of yielding to previous incitations. 
Unless there be some organic arrangement of this kind, by 
means of which each act may represent with some adequacy 
the product of all related experiences in the past, one's actions 
can hardly rise above the level of haphazard reflexes. It is 
obvious that mere perception — although, as we have noticed, 
it does embody in a certain way the outcome of antecedent 
consciousness — does not in any sufficient manner provide for 
such a focussing of one's past experiences upon the selection 
of specific acts, as is demanded by the best accommodatory 
responses. Without the image we might make many appro- 
priate reactions, but we should also make many more in- 
appropriate ones than we now do ; and any high development 
of intelligence would be impossible.* 

The image is, then, the primary psychical process by means 
of which we bring into mind at need the experiences of the 
past. It is also the means by which we forecast the future. 
If I wish to remember what I read yesterday, I accomplish 
it by summoning images which represent the experiences at 
issue. If I wish to decide which of several lines of conduct 
I had best pursue, or which of several possible acts my enemy 

*The limitations of animal intelligence are largely to be 
accounted for by the lack of well-developed processes of the image- 
idea type. 



IMAGINATION 217 

is likely to hit upon, I do it in either case by the use of 
images, which serve me in my tentative prognostication. 
These images may of course be of any variety, but in my own 
case they are likely to be largely visual — images of objects, 
or scenes — and auditory-motor images of words, for my own 
thinking goes on largely in these terms. Moreover, they 
may be extremely vague and their sensuous detail be almost 
swamped in the meaning which they convey. But, whatever 
its form, it is the image which thus affords us the method 
whereby we shake off the shackles of the world of objects 
immediately jDresent to sense, and secure the freedom to 
overstep the limits of space and time as our fancy, or our 
necessity, may dictate. 

Of certain of the important uses to which man has put 
his imagination — in the large sense of the term — in science 
and art, myth and religion, we shall refer in a later 
chapter. Here we are preoccupied with the more rudimentary 
aspects of the process. 

If we have correctly diagnosed the chief function of our 
imagery we may be certain that it makes its first appearance 
at a very early stage in the conscious life of the human being. 
For obvious reasons it is not possible to designate the precise 
moment in the unfolding of the life of the mind at which 
the image is clearly and distinctly differentiated from the 
vague matrix of sensory-motor activities which we have seen 
characterising the first experiences of the child. But we may 
be confident that it is beginning to emerge in some sense 
departments, whenever we see unmistakable signs of volition, 
say at about the twelfth week in most children; and there is 
no reason why it may not be present, in a crude, indefinite 
way, from the beginning of extra-uterine life. 

The Connection of Imagery with the Exercise of the 
Senses. — The development of imagery runs parallel in a 
measure with that of perception, with which, as we saw in 
the previous chapter, it is very intimately connected. It 



2l8 PSYCHOLOGY 

holds to reason, without any elaborate Justification, that if 
any sense organ is allowed to go unused, or is used infre- 
quently, the imagery belonging to that special sense cannot 
develop freely. In confirmation of this general assertion we 
have but to notice that the imagery which most of us find we 
can command with greatest accuracy and flexibility is that 
belonging to the perceptual processes with which we are most 
intimately familiar, i. e., vision, hearing, movement, and 
touch. Compared with these, our images of temperature, 
smell, and taste are relatively impoverished. Moreover, chil- 
dren who lose their sight before they are five years old com- 
mor^ly lose all their visual images, thus exhibiting further 
evidence of the connection of the image with sense organ 
activity. Nevertheless, we have to admit that we display 
individual peculiarities and preferences in the kind of 
imagery which we employ that cannot be satisfactorily ex- 
plained in terms of sense organ activities. The eye and the 
ear may be used with indifl^erent frequency and seeming 
effectiveness, and still the imagery be dominantly of either 
the visual or auditory kind. Differences of this sort probably 
rest upon unassignable organic variations in the cerebral 
cortex. 

The Training of Imagery. — If we examine the type of 
development which characterises the growth of any special 
form of imagery, such, for example, as the visual, we shall 
find that two distinct tendencies are discernible. We find (1) 
that the number of objects which can be simultaneously 
visualised increases, and (3) that the vividness, detail, and 
definiteness of the image increases. It is astonishing to 
observe how rapidly this capacity for visualising unfolds in 
response to a little systematic effort and practice. By devot- 
ing to the task a few minutes each day for a week, one may 
learn to visualise with great detail and remarkable accuracy 
the form, size, colour, etc., of even large and complex objects, 
such, for example, as great buildings. Frequently at the 



IMAGINATION 219 

outset we find tliat our images are relatively faint^ meagre, and 
unstable; they lack vividness and veracity in colour, detail in 
form, and appropriate dimensions in size. Images of other 
varieties, auditory, for instance, are similarly defective at 
times, and yield as a rule to discipline, with a corresponding 
form of development. 

But after all, the important development of our imagery is 
not to be found by inquiring for such changes as we thus 
detect, when we consider it of and by itself apart from its 
place in the totality of psychophysical activity. The essen- 
tial thing is the increase in the dexterity with which we 
employ it, and the growth in the efficiency with which it 
serves its special purpose in the economy of the organism. We 
have already commented upon its principal function. It is 
the psychical device by which we are enabled consciously to 
focalise upon our acts the lessons of our previous relevant 
experiences, and through which we forecast the future in the 
light of the past. 

To perform this function with the greatest ease, prompt- 
ness, and efficiency is the goal toward which the develop- 
ment of our imagery tends, both in those cases where we, 
as psychologists, purposely bend our efforts in that direc- 
tion, and also in those cases characterising ordinary prac- 
tical life, in which our attention is concentrated upon, and 
absorbed in, the execution of some act, and for the moment 
is oblivious to the means employed. 

We have already, in an earlier chapter, outlined the general 
nature of this development, and we need hardly do more here 
than refer to the significant facts, and cite an instance or two 
of the process involved. If I wish to express some proposi- 
tion with the greatest possible force and clearness, I go about 
it by calling into my mind auditory-motor word images. 
Clearly I might use other kinds of imagery without affect- 
ing the relations which we are now examining. As a matter 
of fact I generally use, as do most persons under these 



220 PSYCHOLOGY 

conditions, auditory and kingpsthetic imagery. From among 
these word images I select that combination which appeals to 
my judgment as most appropriate and effective. Evidently 
the success which I achieve will be in part conditioned by the 
extent and richness of the images which I am actually able 
to summon. We speak sometimes of persons possessing a 
rich vocabulary. In the case of our illustration;, my posses- 
sion of a good vocabulary means, when stated in strictly psy- 
chological terms, that I can command a large and effective 
group of auditory-motor word images. 

As a child my imagery of the verbal kind is necessarily 
circumscribed in amount and phlegmatic in operation. When 
adult years are reached the amount of the available imagery 
is ordinarily much augmented, but unless there be discipline 
in its actual use^ it is commonly found that much investment 
of time and effort is needed in order to secure the best and 
most expressive terms. The only real and infallible means 
of training one's imagery for such actual operations is found 
in the definite use of it, either by writing or speaking. Prac- 
tice is here, as elsewhere, the one invariable clue to the highest 
attainable success. The business of such imagery is always 
to be found in some act, and the only way to develop it and 
make it reliable and efficient is by worTcing it. For various 
reasons, which we need not pause to discuss (perhaps largely 
due to emotional conditions), the possession of a good vocabu- 
lary for writing purposes does not necessarily carry with it a 
rich vocabulary for speaking; and in less degree the con- 
verse is true. One commonly requires separate training for 
each form of activity, if the best results are to be attained. 

Imagery and Motor Habit. — When we were discussing 
the principle of habit we observed that all such coordina- 
tions as those which we have Just mentioned tend, under 
the influence of practice, to become essentially automatic; 
and that consciousness consequently tends to disappear from 
their control. If this be always the case the idea is at once 



IMAGINATION 221 

suggested that in such a process as is involved in our illustra- 
tion, i. e., the process of linguistic expression, the same tend- 
ency should be in evidence. I believe this to be actually the 
fact, and I think a little observation will confirm the position. 
We shall have occasion to examine the question more at length 
when we discuss later on the relation of language to reason- 
i ing, but a word or two may properly be inserted here. 

Just in the degree to which our linguistic expression 
involves thoroughly familiar ideas, and deals with familiar 
situations, do we find our consciousness of definite imagery 
vague and indistinct. A student inquires : " What did you 
mention as the date of the battle of Waterloo?" Instantly, 
almost without any definite consciousness of what I am about 
to say, I find I have replied—" 1815.'^ But when the expres- 
sion is of some relatively unfamiliar idea, when the thought 
presents the possibility of several discrepant modes of utter- 
ance, I promjstly become aware of imagery. Not always verbal 
imagery of course. That consideration is wholly secondary. 
But imagery of one kind or another I always find when the 
coordination required cannot be executed in the purely — or 
almost purely — habitual manner. If the situations vsdth 
which we have to cope by means of speech were more widely 
fixed, instead of being, as they are in fact, relatively unstable 
and fluid, relatively changeable, I see no reason to doubt that 
speech, like walking, might become essentially automatic — as 
I believe it to be in part already. 

Summarising, then, we may say that all imagery arises 
out of perceptual activities, upon which its appearance is, 
therefore, most immediately dependent; it develops by use 
in the actual processes of controlling action, and develops its 
real functions in no other way. This accounts for its appear- 
ance in greatest profusion in connection with those sense 
processes which are most significant for human life. It tends 
to drop away after it has served, in the general congeries of 
consciousness, to establish effective habits. 



CHAPTEE IX 
MEMOEY 

Memory and Imagination. — A considerable portion of the 
mental events which we examined in the last chapter as 
instances of imagination, might with propriety have been 
described as phases of memory. In our common use of the 
term " memory/' we mean to indicate such processes as 
involve recollection in any fashion whatever. We say in this 
way that our memory informs us that Napoleon was impris- 
oned at St. Helena; that 8X'?=56; that yesterday was rainy, 
etc. We also speak of remembering that on a certain occasion 
we made a certain remark to a certain individual. Evidently 
these illustrations might all be described as cases of reproduc- 
tive imagination, for they all involve reproductive imagery. 
We may be reasonabty sure at once, then, that conscious 
memory and imagination have one point at least in common, 
i. e., the image. 

But there is one important difference between memory, in 
the more precise meaning of the word, and mere imagination, 
which makes it desirable to devote a separate chapter to its 
study. We might go on indefinitely having similar, or even 
identical, images pass through our minds, and, if we did not 
recognise them as having been previously portions of our 
experience, we should never in any strict sense be able to 
speak of our having a memory process. In memory, our con- 
sciousness not only re-presents old experiences to us, but 
we are aware of the ideas thus brought to us as actually 
standing for items of our previous states of consciousness. 
If I am turning over in my mind the wisdom of making a 



MEMORY 223 

journey to India, the thoughts which come into my mind are 
brought there by some form of reinstatement of knowledge 
which I have gained on some earlier occasion. Productive, 
or reproductive, processes of ideation are at work. But my 
attention may be wholly monopolised with the reference of 
these thoughts to the future. They may not at any point in. 
my thinking present themselves as mere exponents of my 
antecedent experiences. I think of India as an interesting 
country, and my attitude is of course determined by things 
which I have previously learned about it. But this fact of 
my having gotten my information in some moment of my 
earlier life may drop wholly out of sight in my enthusiasm 
over the knowledge itself. Clearly, then, there is a distinc- 
tion between the mere reappearance of ideas in consciousness, 
and the fact of memory, as involving recognition of these 
ideas as elements in my oivn past history. All conscious 
memory is reproductive imagination, but not all reproductive 
imagination is memory. 

Definition of Memory. — We may define memory, then, with 
more preciseness than we have before attempted, by quoting 
James' words. " Memory proper — is the Jcnowledge of an 
event or fact, of which meantime we have not been thinking 
with the additional consciousness that we have thought, or 
experienced it before/' 

Method of Recall. — Let us take a specific instance of 
memory as thus defined and examine it. Suppose we attempt 
to recall where we were and what we were doing at 10 o'clock 
on the fifteenth day of last month. Ordinarily we shall be 
obliged to begin by remembering upon what day of the 
week that month began, and this in turn may require our 
remembering upon what day the present month came in. Let 
us suppose that we find in this way that the fifteenth of the 
preceding month fell upon a Tuesday. If our life is subject 
to a fixed routine, this will generally suffice to give us the clue 
to our whereabouts and doings at the hour suggested. After 



224 PSYCHOLOGY 

a moment's reflection we remember, perhaps, that we were 
in the library reading American history, and upon a little 
more reflection we may recall what other persons- were in the 
room, and what portions of the text we were reading. 

Memory and Association, or Cerebral Habit. — This analy- 
sis at once reveals what we shall find true in any case we may 
select, i. e., that we call back our memory ideas, or images, by 
means of ideas which are associated with them. In order to 
solve the problem set us by the question in our illustration, 
we began by calling into mind ideas which we knew to be con- 
nected with the solution. In this way, little by little, we 
obtain the clue to our occupation at the time suggested. 
Memory depends, then, for its operation upon the principle of 
association, and this principle is in the last analysis identical 
with the law of habit in the cortical processes of the cere- 
brum, as was explained in the previous chapter. This phy- 
siological aspect of the matter is particularly well shown in 
cases where the recall takes place in the form of motor acts 
rather than in definite ideas. If I am asked for the street 
address of a friend, the reply may come instantly in the 
from of spolcen words and often quite without any pre- 
liminary ideational process. The preservation by the nervous 
system of acquired tendencies to action is called "^organic 
memory," as has already been stated. 

Memory and Imagery. — If we inquire into the nature of 
the mental content disclosed in our conscious memory, we 
find that it is made up of images — visual, auditory, motor, 
etc. When we reach the goal of our endeavour, and succeed 
in recalling our presence in the library, we discover that the 
content of our thought is not only made up of images, but 
that over and above this fact is to be remarked the peculiar 
character of the imagery. Just in the measure in which our 
recollection is detailed and confident, we shall ordinarily find 
the imagery profuse and exact in its representation of the 
temporal and spatial order of the events and objects present 



MEMORY 225 

to consciousness in the original experience. However, some 
persons execute almost all their thinking, including the 
process of recall, with a highly schematic sort of imagery 
which lacks detail and is extremely fleeting and unstable. 
The meaning of their conscious states is for them the per- 
sistently dominant thing and to the other aspects of their 
experience they reinain consistently oblivious. 

Memory and Eecognition. — One still more important 
peculiarity is noticeable in this case of memory which we 
are analysing. After we have, by means of associated ideas, 
gotten into mind our whereabouts and acts at the time named, 
and after the imagery portraying our situation has been 
developed in consciousness, it is still necessary, if this is not 
all to be futile, that we should recognise, identify, and assent 
to the meaning of the ideas thus brought before our notice, 
.as indicating the actual experience to be recalled. This fact 
of recognition we have previously emphasised as a dis- 
tinguishing mark of memory when compared with imagina- 
tion. It seems to be an ultimate and unanalysable property 
of consciousness. But however much it may baffle our 
attempts to dissect it, there can be no question of its funda- 
mental import, and we must accordingly take account of it. 

Memory an Outgrowth of Recognition. — It seems on the 
whole probable that memory, in the meaning of our defini- 
tion, has grown out of a cruder process of recognition which, 
although it is now no longer sole proprietor of the activity, 
still accompanies the memory act in its elaborate forms as a 
basal and indispensable cliaracteristic. If we examine, for 
example, the actions of an infant, we very early observe evi- 
dence of the recognition of objects. Thus, the mother's face, 
the sounds of preparing food, the contact sensations 
occasioned when clothing is put on or off, are all of them 
recognised at a period when it would be hazardous to assume 
that any independent memory imagery has as yet become dis- 
engaged from the general sensory continuum of consciousness. 



226 PSYCHOLOGY 

Clearly then, the recognition process may begin with 
conscious events which are dominantly of the sensory and 
perceptual kind; whereas our contact with it thus far in our 
study has been primarily in connection with representational 
activities of the centrally initiated character. 

Conditions of Sensory Eecognition. — When we con- 
sider the neural conditions under which sensory recognition 
arises in the young babe, it is immediately suggested to 
us that recognition depends primarily upon the reexcita- 
tion of pathways in the nervous system over which nervous 
impulses have previously travelled. The organic reaction 
which such stimulation sets up finds an echo in consciousness, 
which is probably the beginning of recognition. If we take 
this fact of recognition, in connection with the other facts we 
noticed when describing the beginnings of habit, we shall 
secure a deeper insight into the mode of development peculiar, 
to the process here at issue. It may be said at once that 
recognition plays (implicitly or explicitly) a fundamentally 
important part in every one of the cognitive operations, 
from perception through memory up to reasoning. 

Take the case of a child learning to recognise its mother. 
At first, when the mother takes the child up to be fed, the 
visual, tactual, and gustatory stimulations set up miscellane- 
ous movements which are in the main uncoordinated and 
utterly variable. Little by little, however, as these sense 
impressions are repeated, and their agreeable consequences 
are experienced, the movements tend, after the manner we 
have already described, to settle down into the relatively 
coordinated groups which the experience encourages. Smil- 
ing, gurgling, jerking the limbs in movements anticipa- 
tory of being taken up, rapidly appear and become fixed 
as habits. 

Very quickly, then, these repeated sense impressions set up 
sensory-motor coordinations, of which the conscious process 
of recognition is the psychical accompaniment. These impres- 



MEMORY 227 

sions promptly come to mean certain movements. Indeed, 
the movements are actually initiated by the impressions, and 
recognition is the mental state which observes, assents to, 
and in a sense guides, these physiological responses. As the re- 
sponses become more and more automatic, the psychical part of 
the activity tends to evaporate, as we have so often pointed out. 
In just the measure in which this occurs do we cease to have 
any clear, definite, vital sense of familiarity, any tingling 
thrill of recognition. This is illustrated in adult life by the 
" matter of course " manner in which we respond to the 
thousand and one objects which we see every day — the books, 
papers, ink-stand and pens on our desks, the tables, chairs, 
windows and lamps in our rooms, the trees on our familiar 
streets, the shape and colour of our own houses, etc. We do 
the appropriate things in the presence of these objects and 
such overt acts on our part constitute in cases of this kind 
Bubstantially the sole expressions of recognition. Practically 
we recognise all these things of course, but it is with a rela- 
tively automatic, dim kind of consciousness, which contrasts 
sharply with the vivacity and distinctness of the feeling 
which we get upon first seeing these same objects after pro- 
longed absence. As development proceeds, the overt move- 
ments themselves often become superfluous and are largely 
inhibited, or at least they tend to become nascent; they are 
resolved into mere transitory attitudes. 

We may feel moderately confident, therefore, that recogni- 
tion of the sensory variety rests upon the reinstatement of 
acquired sensory-motor coordinations; i. e., on the genetic 
side it displays a period of conflict of impulses and move- 
ments with maladjustment, a period of increasingly efficient 
adaptation, and a final period in which the conscious factor 
tends to drop out, sometimes apparently doing this, sometimes 
stopping just short of disappearance. 

Conditions of Ideational Recognition. — When we rec- 
ognise ideas, or images, in distinction from perceptions, as 



228 PSYCHOLOGY 

having previously occupied our consciousness, the strictly 
mental features of the case do not differ materially from those 
we have just described. We are ordinarily, perhaps, more 
definitely aware of the fringe of suggested images with which 
an idea that we recognise promptly surrounds itself, although 
this is apparently by no means an invariable feature of 
recognition. But the production of an emotional reaction, 
or mood, which we may name the familiarity feeling, is com- 
mon to both the sensory and the ideational forms of rec- 
ognition. Generally, but not always, the act of recognition 
is agreeable, and this, too, is true whether the act be of the 
sensory or the ideational kind. Probably the mere act of 
recognition is, as such, always agreeable, although the object, 
or content of the thought recognised, is of course sometimes 
quite otherwise. Moreover, both kinds of recognition, sensory 
and ideational, may vary almost indefinitely as regards the 
distinctness and the degree of elaboration belonging to the 
various parts of the process. We may thus find that an idea 
which comes into our mind — for example, the visual image of 
some person's face — calls up the vague feeling " familiar," 
" seen before," and nothing more. Or it may surround 
itself with a number of other images and we may at once 
recognise it as the face of a speaker whom we heard last 
week. In such cases words are very likely to be called up, 
whether in the form of definite auditory images, or in the 
form mentioned in an earlier paragraph, as actual articula- 
tions. The person's name may be thus pronounced either 
aloud or under the breath. Here as in the case of sensory 
recognition, overt acts are frequently the conspicuous expres- 
sions of recognition. 

In all instances of conscious recognition, however, it must 
be remembered that the mental act of explicit recognition is 
something unique; something which is not simply synon}^- 
mous with the accompanying conditions which we have been 
describing. When v/e get these accompanying conditions we 



MEMORY 229 

get the act too, and when they are all absent, the act is 
apparently absent. But the mental relating of the present 
idea, or perception, to the past as familiar is something dis- 
tinctly additional to and beyond these concomitants. 

On the physiological side it seems probable that ideational 
recognition is much like sensory recognition, save as regards 
the neural processes which initiate it. The sense organ activ- 
ity is clearly not the immediate predecessor of the cortical 
action underlying recognition in the case of its ideational 
form. But the motor response is essentially identical, and 
its cortical basis may be, for all we can see, of a similar 
character. The matter can be put diagrammatically, as in the 
accompanying iigure (60). In the case of sensory recogni- 



FiG. 60. 

tion the process starts in the sense organ (SO) and is trans- 
mitted to the sensory regions of the cortex (SC), arousing 
perception. Thence it is transmitted, either directly to the 
motor centre (MC) and thus perhaps initiates movements of 
the recognitive sort, or it is transferred to other cortical 
centres (Cj, C^, etc.), resulting in the arousal of supple- 
mentary ideas, which serve to give the perception its place in 
past experience, and the process is then carried over to the 
motor regions (MC), and thus out into the voluntary and 
involuntary muscles, producing the habitual response in com- 
pletion of the sensory-motor cycle. In ideational recognition 



230 PSYCHOLOGY 

the process is of the same character, save that now the sense 
organ origin of the cortical excitation is lacking. The proc- 
ess starts, so far as we can discern, in some cortical centre 
like Cj. At all events, if a sensory process is really respon- 
sible for the result, it lies so far back in the series of cortical 
activities that we cannot confidently connect it with the 
result. It ought not to be necessary to point out again that 
the actual motor reactions characterising these processes of 
recognition may be of an extremely rudimentary and frag- 
mentary kind. But the tendency to make the movements, 
with its indication of a degree of innervation in the motor 
cortex, seems to be a genuine part of the act. 

Remembering and Forgetting. — It has already been abun- 
dantly emphasised that memory (using the term from this 
point on to the end of the chapter in the broader sense of 
common parlance, as equivalent to recollection in its various 
forms) depends in the last analysis upon the retentiveness of 
the nervous tissues. When we are not occupied with a 
thought, or an image, so far as we know, the thought, or 
image, simply goes out, ceases to exist. Certain psycholo- 
gists prefer to think of these psychological facts as stored up 
in the mind in the form of what they call " psychical disposi- 
tions,^^ or tendencies. But however it may fare with this last 
mentioned theory, the modifications of the cortical tissues 
which our experiences bring about are certainly relatively 
durable; and when the cortex is called upon to resuscitate a 
previous experience, it summons the appropriate centres, with 
their imbedded modifications, to perform again the action 
previously executed. This is apparently the physical basis of 
imagination and memory. In one sense, therefore, it is 
probable that no item of our lives is ever literally and entirely 
forgotten. Even if we find it impossible, as we sometimes 
do, voluntarily to recall a certain idea, we must believe that 
the experience in which we originally encountered it has 
left its indelible impress upon the substance of the brain, 



MEMORY 231 

whose action will in consequence be somewhat different from 
that which it might have manifested had the experience in 
question never befallen us. 

Despite this belief, forgetfulness is a constant and often 
exasperating characteristic of daily life. It also has a useful 
function, which we do not always recognise. From the psy- 
chophysical point of view we obtained the most important 
explanation of the value of forgetting when we were examin- 
ing the facts about attention. In the chapter devoted to 
attention we found that consciousness is seemingly never 
impartial in its response to the objects presented to it. It is 
always primarily concerned with some particular portion of 
the objective field. It neglects this and attends to that, it 
is dimly aware of this and keenly cognisant of that. Now, if 
memory is dependent upon the modifications which neural 
stimulations impress upon the cerebral cortex, and if con- 
sciousness and cortical action run parallel with one another, 
as we have seen is apparently the case, it holds to reason that 
those items in any experience which procure our undivided 
and concentrated attention must succeed in leaving deeper 
and more permanent traces in the cortical tissues than do 
those to which we attend in the margin of consciousness, or 
than those over which we pass uninterestedly. Although the 
undoubted tendency of the brain is to register and store up 
all the impressions which are imposed upon it, the gradual 
change of organic structures must inevitably bring it about 
that some of the less deeply engraved modifications should 
gradually become so faint and so disused as to render them 
practically inert and incompetent to participate vitally in the 
operations of memory. Temporary functional disconnections 
of brain centres that normally are connected are familiar to 
all of us. I know my friend's middle name perfectly well, 
and yet when asked for it a moment ago, I could not command 
it. Some momentary stoppage of the associated pathways in 
the cortex checked the attempt at recall. Many of the most 



232 PSYCHOLOGY 

serious disorders of insanity involve this kind of disconnection 
and disintegration among ideas, of course much exaggerated. 

One primary reason for our forgetfulness, therefore, is 
found in the process of attention. We must expect to forget 
a goodly part of all those items of experience to which we 
do not lend a vigorous and forceful attention. The only 
compensation for the lack of such concentration is found in 
the tedious process of repetition, by means of which we may, 
with even indifferent attention, grind gradually into our 
brain tissues any material which we desire to retain. 

Forgetting has its use, however, in freeing us from the 
incubus of much utterly valueless experience. On the whole 
we remember fairly well those things which are of practical 
importance to us. Were our minds so organised as to retain 
with impartial accuracy all the events in our experience, and 
were their total capacity to remain unchanged, we should 
find our intellectual possibilities immensely curtailed by the 
obtrusion of the insignificant and irrelevant. While we are 
occasionally incommoded by forgetting, it is undoubtedly on 
the whole an added source of efficiency in our mental opera- 
tions, that we find the unimportant elements of our knowl- 
edge so frequently dropping out of our memories. 

Defects and Abnormalities in Recollection: A. Familial 
Phenomena. — We obtain an interesting side-light upon nor- 
mal memory processes by observing some of the common 
defects and abnormalities to which it is subject. These are 
in the main exaggerations of common and familiar deficien- 
cies. Thus, in one form of hiental disorder everything is 
forgotten the moment it passes out of the range of percep- 
tion. We observe in ourselves the counterpart of this case, 
when after reading a sentence, for instance, we find, as 
occasionally occurs to all of us, that for a few moments we are 
absolutely unable to remember anything about it, and often 
must ignominiously read it again. The opposite type of 
abnormality is met with in the form of vastly heightened 



MEMORY 233 

sensitivity to impressions, which can then be recalled with 
marvellous accuracy and detail. The mathematical prodigies 
who can recall lists of a hundred or more figures after a single 
glance are cases in point. Idiots sometimes possess astonish- 
ing verbatim memories of the same kind. With most of us 
the only phenomenon closely corresponding to this is found 
in our ability to recall experiences which have been char- 
acterised by intense emotional disturbance. The details of 
some episode in which we have been greatly terrified may 
linger in our memories with a vividness which rivals the dis- 
tinctness of the original experience. Again, the memory of 
events during a grave illness may be almost wholly lost. A 
similar obliviscence as to the occurrences preceding a severe 
accident is very frequent. 

There are numerous abnormalities in which the order 
of remembered events and the time of their occurrence is 
distorted ; things are persistently " remembered/' which never 
occurred, and imaginary events are interpolated among real 
events, in a manner which bafiles analysis. The counter- 
parts of these last named defects in our own every-day life 
and in the case of children will suggest themselves at once. 

A simple experiment can be readily performed to illus- 
trate these errors. If a series of numbers containing seven or 
eight digits be read aloud to a group of people and they be 
asked to write down at the completion of the reading of each 
series the numbers as they remember them, it will be found 
that three characteristic forms of error are made. (1) Digits 
will be given in an order different from that in which they 
were read. (2) Certain digits will be left out entirely. (3) 
Digits which were not read at all will be inserted in place 
of some which were given. 

B. Diseases of Memory. — An interesting disease of 
memory which furnishes striking confirmation of our con- 
elusions concerning the dependence of memory and imagina- 
tion upon the image, consists in the loss of memory for specific 



234 PSYCHOLOGY 

forms of sensory material. Thus, the visual memory may be 
entirely lost, so that one cannot recall how objects look. Or 
the auditory images of words may be obliterated. If the im- 
agery which is lost be of the variety chiefly employed by the 
patient in his thinking, the result is inevitably most disastrous, 
reducing the victim to a condition bordering upon imbecility. 

General amnesia (loss of memory), which may arise from 
some severe shock, or may be found in dementia, as in the 
case of the very aged, involves a total loss of memory of all 
kinds, for events of the preceding moment as well as for 
remoter events. Partial amnesias are found which may 
either involve a limited portion of time, as when a person 
is unable to remember anything that occurred on the 
occasion of a severe accident, or it may involve some special 
sensory process, as in the cases mentioned in the preceding 
paragraph; or it may involve certain subjects only as in 
cases of forgetting a foreign language. In somnambulistic 
states events can be recalled which occurred in previous 
somnambulisms, but which in the interim have been entirely 
forgotten. A similar condition is sometimes met with in 
hypnotic sleep. The profound disturbances of personality 
met with in certain cases of hysteria are related by Janet 
to fundamental cleavages in the memory processes, by virtue 
of which one set of experiences gets entirely severed from the 
rest of experience and serves as the focus for the establishment 
of a new personality. We shall refer to these cases of multiple 
personality later in the book. Meantime facts such as we have 
just rehearsed show clearly how complex an affair memory 
is and how basal it is for all our important human interests. 

C. Disintegration of Memory in Old Age. — When mem- 
ory begins to decay under the advance of age there is 
a remarkable uniformity in the order in which certain kinds 
of knowledge disappear, and in many cases of insanity a 
similar order of disintegration is observed. Thus, the mem- 
ory of proper names is among the earliest of the losses, and the 



MEMORY 235 

more concrete are our ideas, the earlier do we lose the memory 
of the words for them. Abstract ideas which depend very 
largely for their existence in our thought upon the words 
which we use to designate them are by virtue of the law of 
habit much more persistent; because the word is in this case 
bound up much more widely and intimately with our use of 
the idea. So it comes about that the memory of adjectives 
and verbs, conjunctions and prepositions, outlives that of 
most nouns and proper names. The objects for which nouns 
are our verbal symbols we can, and frequently do, think of 
in terms of imagery other than that of words, e. g., visual, 
tactual, etc. Consequently the memory of these words is less 
deeply imbedded in the brain tissues, and when this tissue 
decays such memories are the first to suffer extinction. 

It is a familiar fact too that old people are much more 
forgetful of recent occurrences than of those which happened 
further back in the past. This is no doubt attributable to 
the loss of normal receptivity by the brain. It retains fairly 
well impressions made upon it at an earlier period, but it 
cannot now take on new ones. 

D. An Illusion or Memory. — Another curious disturbance 
of memory, with which most of us are familiar, is found in 
the experience of an impression that we have previously been 
in the place where we are at the moment, or a conviction that 
we have previously said the words we are now saying, while 
as a matter of fact we know that we cannot possibly have 
been in the given situation, nor have spoken the words. 
Many explanations have been advanced for this phenomenon, 
■which still remains, however, obscure as to its origin. It 
probably arises from different causes at different times, and 
is, perhaps, most often to be regarded as primarily a disturb- 
ance of emotional processes connected with the 'familiarity 
feeling.^ It is in that case a kind, of emotional illusion in 
which the organic reaction normally elicited by familiar situ- 
ations is vigorously stimulated by soin.e inappropriate object. 



236 PSYCHOLOGY 

Individual Differences in Memory. — Common observa- 
tion as well as careful experimentation indicates the widest 
variation among people as to the materials which they employ 
in their memory processes and also as to the proficiency which 
they display in acquiring and retaining information. With- 
out attempting a complete survey of these differences, we 
may at least mention certain characteristic ones. We have 
hitherto commented upon the preferences which given persons 
evince for definite forms of imagery as compared with other 
forms. This need not be repeated, although it evidently will 
appear in the memory activities. Certain people can remem- 
ber much better things which they see than they can things 
which they hear and vice versa. The basis of these prefer- 
ences as to the source from which information is obtained 
in most cases can only be inferred with uncertainty. Apart 
from the question of the preference for a special sense or a 
special form of imagery in the exercise of memory, we find 
that certain people can learn very quickly but cannot retain 
long what they learn. Others can acquire only very slowly, 
but they retain firmly what they get. Others less fortunate 
than either class, can neither learn quickly nor retain effect- 
ively the information they try to obtain. A few favoured 
persons learn with great quickness and retain what they get 
with a tenacity and permanence which is utterly exasperat- 
ing to the ordinary plodder. We shall discover some of the 
grounds for differences of the kind last mentioned when we 
discuss the training of memory. 

Now and then a remarkable individual is discovered who 
altogether out-strips in some special direction the memory 
capacities of the average man. Some chess players have 
memories of this kind, enabling them to play while blind- 
folded a dozen or twenty games at once. Similarly the abil- 
ity to remember page after page of numbers is met with, and 
this too after but a single reading or hearing. Musicians 
have occasionally remembered from a single hearing long and 



MEMORY 237 

complicated scores. It is somewhat comforting to the com- 
mon-place person to know that these prodigies are ordinarily 
no better than, and often quite inferior to, the average indi- 
vidual in all other uses of their memories save the one which 
gives them notoriety. 

Training and Bevelopment of Memory Processes. — A good 
memory, in the practical sense of the phrase, would seem 
to depend upon (1) ease and rapidity of acquirement, (2) 
permanency of retention, and (3) the ability to recall 
information promptly and accurately when wanted. These 
results clearly involve (a) the original act of impression, (b) 
the process of retention, and (c) the act of recollection. The 
original impression and the act of recollection are under our 
immediate control. The process of retention, once a stimu- 
lation is given, depends upon the brain tissues, whose con- 
dition we can improve only indirectly by giving ourselves 
healthful habits and hygienic surroundings. In the inter- 
ests of brevity no effort will be made to treat separately these 
three factors in efficient memory activities. The reader, 
who desires so to do, can easily assign the facts canvassed to 
their appropriate compartments. 

A. Repetition, Vividness, Recency, and Eiumber of Asso- 
ciations. — It is evident that any effort to train the memory 
must, if it is to succeed, be based upon the employment of 
such principles as are natural and inherent in the memory 
process itself. ISTow one of these principles primarily con- 
cerns repetition and involves factors which are largely 
mechanical in their nature. If the cortical basis of reten- 
tion is resident in the modifications of nervous tissue, brought 
about by the impressions which pour in upon us, it is clear 
that anything which will augment the permanency of these 
modifications, or increase their number, will in so far make 
towards the preservation of the accompanying psychical proc- 
esses and the establishment of an efficient memory. Experi- 
ence certainly justifies this statement, for we find that any 



238 PSYCHOLOGY 

impressions which we can make extremely vivid are likely 
to be retained in memory for a longer time than would be 
the case if the impressions were less intense. Such vivid 
experiences are always productive of deep-seated neural excite- 
ment, and we may reasonably suppose that their ready 
retention and recall is a sign of the depth of the nervous 
modification produced by them. Similarly, the mere repeti- 
tion of an imj)ression must serve sooner or later to set up 
relatively permanent modifications in the brain tissue, and 
so indirectly accomplish permanency of retention in the mind. 
Temporary effects can be produced, as every schoolboy knows, 
through the influence of recency of stimulation. Cramming 
for examinations, when successful, rests largely on this 
foundation. These points, together with the others men- 
tioned in this section, have, with a single exception, been 
already touched upon in our account of association in the 
previous chapter. 

It is not often easy in a practical way to enhance the effect- 
iveness of our memories through rendering emotionally 
vivid the impressions we wish to preserve. But so far as we 
can succeed in focalising our attention exclusively upon the 
matter in hand, so far we do make gains in vividness, and 
the importance for efficient memory processes of concentrated 
attention is based precisely upon this fact. Speaking from 
an empirical point of view, it seems probable that the immense 
variation in the memory processes of different people is largely 
connected with this difference in ability to concentrate atten- 
tion. The habit of giving oneself with complete abandon 
to the undertaking immediately in hand is one of the most 
significant clues to the securing of an alert and accurate 
memory. Moreover, this concentration of attention is as 
significant at the time of recall as it is at the moment of 
original impression. 

Obviously it is simple enough to make use of repetition. 
We may either do this by giving ourselves over and over again 



MEMORY 239 

the same sense stimulation, as when we repeat a name which 
we wish to remember; or we may, after the manner of the 
modern elementar}'' schools, present the same object to a 
number of different senses, as when we listen to the sound 
of the name, then speak it, then write it and look at the 
written word. In such ways we can increase the depth of the 
cortical modifications, corresponding to some single sense 
department, or we can increase the number of cortical areas 
affected by the stimulus. In either case we evidently increase 
the total amount of cortical modifications, and so better the 
chances, not only for permanent retention, but also for 
easy and ready recall. The more pathways there are in the 
brain leading to the stimulation of any special activity, the 
more likely is it that the given activity can be promptly 
aroused. The more ideas there are in the mind connected 
with any given idea, the more chances there are for the ex- 
peditious production of the latter when needed. 

As a matter of fact all memory processes depend in some 
measure upon this mechanical factor, but it becomes relatively 
less important as the general level of intellectual development 
rises. There are many things which children must neces- 
sarily get at first in a largely mechanical fashion. Learning 
to spell, for example, is in English mainly a mechanical 
accomplishment, the available rational elements being chiefly 
conspicuous by their absence. But for adult undertakings it 
is a poor memory which responds only to mechanical incite- 
ments. Kevertheless, our modern education, with its exten- 
sive desertion of all verbatim methods of memorising, ia 
undoubtedly in danger of pouring the baby out with the bath, 
of discarding a method useful in its place, even though not 
useful in all places. 

B. Logical Method of Memorising. — The most important 
factor in assisting the establishment of broad and effective 
memory processes is of a practical and logical character. If 
we can once knit up a fact to be remembered with a group 



240 PSYCHOLOGY 

of other already known facts with which it is intimately 
related, we often come to see the members of the entire group 
as mutually dependent upon, or explanatory of, one another. 
And thus we find we can retain in memory the total mass more 
eflBciently than we could a much smaller number of items, so 
long as they remain unrelated. Such an interrelating of the 
facts has in a sense the effect of reducing the mass to a single 
mental fact. A child being taught the method of long divi- 
sion in arithmetic, or the method of determining the square 
root of a number, finds the successive steps in the process 
extremely difficult to keep straight, so long as the procedure 
is based simply upon the memory of the rule, which states 
dogmatically the order of the various operations to be per- 
formed. But as soon as the relation of the several steps to 
one another is clearly apprehended, as soon as the real nature 
of the process is understood, the verbatim memory of the 
rule becomes a superfluity, which may be forgotten with entire 
impunity. The several facts represented by the separate 
arithmetical operations all flow together as integral parts 
of a larger whole, to which the}'' are seen to be essential. 
Thereafter, the nightmare of a forgotten rule is banished. 
In a certain sense, however, the rule can hardly be forgotten 
as long as the clear apprehension of the relations involved 
remains. For the rule is simply the verbal formulation of 
these relations. But under such conditions one's action is 
free, intelligent, and independent, instead of blind and slavish 
to a mere rule-of-thumb. 

If we are asked how to go about the creation of these logical 
relations among the facts with which we wish to equip our 
memories, the answer will turn upon two points. We must 
first reflect upon the thing to be remembered, and attempt to 
give it a setting among the things with which it is most 
closely connected. ISTo fact ever comes to us wholly isolated 
from the rest of our knowledge, and most facts bear upon their 
faces evidence of their most intimate relations. We should 



MEMORY 241 

at once, then, scrutinise each new fact that comes, and inquire 
what there is in the series of events or relations to which it 
belongs that has occasioned its existence. We should ask 
for the causes which have produced it, and the consequencea 
to which it leads. If we can succeed in setting up relation- 
ships of this kind, we find that the new fact becomes a 
real part of our minds, just as in the case of the arithmetical 
rules of which we spoke a moment ago. In studying history, 
for example, such a procedure will mean that we shall try to 
see any given fact, like a battle, a cession of territory, or a 
piece of legislation, in the light of all the facts, political, 
social, economic, geographical, etc., which may bear upon it in 
any significant way. All the important episodes in an his- 
torical period will thus be welded together, each throwing 
light upon the other in a way which makes it natural and 
•easy to recall them. 

An ideally perfect mind would involve, among other things, 
a complete working out of all the relations sustained by a 
given fact to all other known facts. In actual experience, 
however, we find that our information is largely stored away 
on the compartment principle. Our knowledge of history 
seldom gets any very intimate articulation with our knowledge 
of astronomy. The events with which each deals do not appeal 
to us as intrinsically germane. Similarly, our knowledge of 
exact science seldom interferes in either a theoretical or a 
practical way with our knowledge of politics ; and it is notori- 
ous that, for certain persons at least, religious knowledge and 
belief are kept quite distinct from every other intellectual and 
practical interest. 

In the second place, we should always, when possible, pro- 
ceed at once to make some actual use of the information we 
are seeking to impress upon our memories. In a certain way 
the process of reflection, which we have just been describing, 
necessitates our using the facts we are trying to memorise. 
But we have in mind here a more overt activity. "We saw in 



242 PSYCHOLOGY 

the previous chapter that the fundamental function of ou? 
memory and imagination is the control which they afford over 
experience, both past and future. These activities are, more- 
over, only a sort of half-way house between the sensory 
stimulus and the motor reaction, of which we have heard so 
much. The relevant motor expression ought, therefore, to be 
allowed to occur. If all this be true, we shall have some 
theoretical foundation for the precept we have just formu 
lated, a precept which is abundantly justified by experience. 
The sooner and oftener we can apply to some practical under- 
taking a fact we wish to remember, the better the chance of 
its remaining in our minds. Talking about it, writing about 
it, incorporating it into some manual constructive activity, 
if it is a fact which will permit such treatment, are all 
methods of accomplishing the desired result. A mind trained 
to concentrated logical reflection upon facts, and then further 
trained to make the earliest feasible application of them in 
practical ways, is a mind ./hich will achieve the maximal 
efficiency of which it is capable. Ease and rapidity of acquire- 
ment, promptness in recall on demand, and permanency of 
retention will all be at their best. 

C. Mnemonic Systems. — Evidently these methods of train- 
ing the powers of retention and recall suggest no easy royal 
road to success. They mean hard work. But they are the only 
methods which have any large and general significance for 
the development of the mind. Many catch-penny devices have 
been hit upon to simplify memorising, and within certain nar- 
row limits such systems have a value. The mnemonic schemes 
of many so-called " memory systems " illustrate the point. 
Suppose one has occasion to remember a great many unrelated 
numbers, like the street addresses of a large group of people. 
One may greatly facilitate such a feat by first memorising a 
" form," in which each digit is connected with a consonant, 
e. g., the 1 with t, 2 with I, 3 with d, etc. The next step is 
to make a word easily suggested by the person whose house 



MEMORY 243 

number is to be remembered, in which these letters shall occur 
in proper order. For example, Mr, Smith's number is 122, Mr. 
Smith is tall. The word tall in the number form means 122, 
for the vowels are neglected. For special purposes, such as 
that of our illustration, such methods can be made very useful. 
But as applied to the acquirement and retention of miscel- 
laneous information they are failures. It requires more time 
and effort to learn the forms, or frames, and then make the 
applications, than is required to accomplish the same result 
in the ways we have already pointed out. 

Idiosyncracies in Form of Eecall. — Many persons have 
curious individual peculiarities in their methods of recalling 
specific kinds of material. Thus, certain people always think 



100 



"y 





Fig. 61. In this form the numbers are seen extending upward and 
to the right from about the level of the shoulders. 

of the numerals by means of a kind of visual framework, 
known as a number form. These number forms are most 
various in their shape and size and general character, some 
of them being seen as coloured in many hues. An example of 
one of the simpler types is given in the accompanying sketch. 
(Figure 61.) A person possessing one of these forms always 
sees the numbers about which he is thinking appearing in 
their appropriate place in the framework. Other persons 
always think of the months of the year, the days of the week. 



244 PSYCHOLOGY 

and even the hours of the day, in similar visual frameworks. 
All these devices seem to represent the effort of the mind to 
give a concrete basis to abstract relations. But they are for 
the most part acquired in early childhood in a perfectly naive 
way, and apparently indicate native differences in the way 
different minds get hold of material to be remembered. 
" Coloured hearing," or chromgesthesia, of which mention 
was made in the analysis of perception, belongs to the same 
range of individual idiosyncrasy. 



CHAPTER X 

THE CONSCIOUSI^ESS OF MEAmWG AND THE 
FORMATION OF CONCEPTS 

In the actual execution of the functions hitherto described 
another mental operation is involved in addition to those 
which we have thus far analysed. This operation is contained 
in a latent fashion in each of these conscious activities with 
which we have been dealing; but it conies repeatedly to light 
as a relatively distinct mental process, and we must accord- 
ingly submit it to examination. Indeed, many of the acts 
which we have used as illustrations throughout our previous 
study could hardly result as they do were it not for the pres- 
ence of this mental factor, which is known in its most devel- 
oped form as conception. The mental product which results 
from it is called a concept. In its more rudimentary form 
we may call it the consciousness of meaning, and we shall 
discuss the simpler phase first. 

The Consciousness of Meaning. — On the side of function, 
the most fundamental property of intelligence is, perhaps, the 
ability to recognise and emjDloy meanings. Perception could 
never lead to the establishment of efficient habitual coordina- 
tions were we not able to apprehend the meaning of that 
which we see and hear and touch. Memory would be an 
abortive resuscitation of the past could we not recognise the 
meaning of that which we recall. Imagination in all its 
forms would be a mere mental logomachy were it not for our 
ability to understand the meaning of the images which occupy 
our minds. We shall later see that volition, or conation, 
depends from the very first on the use of meanings. From the 
beginning to the end, therefore, of our mental activities the 
presence of meaning is absolutely indispensable. 



246 PSYCHOLOGY 

That a thing means something to us is equivalent to saying 
that it symbolises something for us, that we are aware of some 
of the relations which it sustains to other things. Now, the 
mind shows itself from the very outset as a relating activity. 
We have previously analysed one of the most elementary forms 
of this relating process in our account of recognition. On 
the level of j)erceptual and sensory activities the crude, vague 
identifying of one experience with an antecedent one must 
represent in the infant consciousness the first outcropping in 
an explicit way of the relational factor, the first appearance 
of the awareness of meaning. An experience v/hich is recog- 
nised, no matter how vaguely, is thereby in our very manner 
of feeling it connected by us with something else not present. 

Meaning in Sensory Material.— The manipulation of the 
sensuous material of experience — now in an analytical, dis- 
criminative way, and now in a synthesising, associative way — > 
results inevitably from the very first in the disclosure of 
innumerable relations involved among masses previously 
sensed in a rude, inchoate manner. Certain typical forms 
under which this analytic-synthetic development of relations 
occurs, we have already described in the chapter on attention, 
so that we need not repeat the matter at this point. "We 
are emphasising here, however, as we did not do at that 
juncture, the fact that our noticing of differences and like- 
nesses in the material presented to our senses rests upon our 
ability to note and employ the relations which these proc- 
esses of attention throw into relief. It is, in short, because 
the elements which we thus break out from the total mass of 
unanalysed sense experience possess meaning for us, symbolise 
relations of one and another kind, that we can employ them 
coherently and efficiently. Without this element of appre- 
hended meaning they would remain disconnected, wholly irra- 
tional and inert bits of mentality; curious perhaps, but cer- 
tainly useless. The element of meaning joins them to one 
another in a vital organic union. 



• CONSCIOUSNESS OF MEANING 247 

Pure sensation can be thought of as bare material wholly 
devoid of meaning, a mere "that" ; and we can similarly con- 
ceive of sheer meaning disconnected from all imagery or 
sensory stuff. In actual experience we never meet either 
condition. Sensations always have some meaning however 
rudimentary, and meaning is always draped upon some 
carrier, whether image or sense process. This statement is 
certainly true of all strictly conscious activities. Whether 
rational processes may occur by means of sub-conscious 
cerebral action and without conscious manifestations is quite 
another question. 

Probably the most fundamental form of this consciousness 
of meaning and relation is our previously mentioned aware- 
ness of sameness and difference. We know at once without 
tutelage of any kind when two experiences seem to us the 
same, and when they seem different. Evidently, the process 
of recognition is closely related to this sense of sameness, if 
it be not, indeed, found practically identical. 

Meaning in Ideational Processes. — All that we have said, 
thus far, about sense perception and the analytic-synthetic 
play of attention upon such material is true in even more 
obvious fashion, when we come to speak of images and ideas. 
The idea is, as such, clearly a symbolic affair, finding its 
raison d'etre not in itself, but in that which it does, that for 
which it stands. Evidently meaning is the very essence of the 
idea. Moreover, we develop the meanings and relations 
am'ong our ideas by means of just the same kind of attention 
processes as characterised our manipulation of sensory activi- 
ties. By focussing our attention now upon one feature of a 
thought, and now upon another, by " abstracting," as it is 
sometimes called, one phase or another, we analyse our ideas, 
compare them with one another, and so come to the discern- 
ment of unsuspected relations, of unrealised likenesses and 
differences. 

Psychological Basis of Meaning. — Psychologists are by no 



248 PSYCHOLOGY, 

means agreed as to the precise nature of the mental activity 
by means of which we apprehend relations. Certain writers 
m^ke the whole achievement a function of attention, and dis- 
claim the necessity for any further explanation. Attention 
is declared to be in its very essence a relating activity, and 
consequently, so far as we attend, we always attend in a 
relational way. Other writers maintain that just as certain 
moments of consciousness are cognisant of percepts or images, 
so certain other moments are cognisant of relations. Thus 
James speaks of our having " feelings of relation," e. g., a 
feeling of " and," a feeling of " if," and a feeling of " for." 
Certain psychologists of this way of thinking recognise what 
they call " relational elements " of consciousness comparable 
with sensation elements. 

A complete consideration of this matter would take us 
too far afield into unsettled principles, and the reader must 
temporarily countenance the author's dogmatic general state- 
ment that the consciousness of relation is a basal factor in 
all activities of attention; that our attention is sometimes 
more, and sometimes less, directed toward the extant rela- 
tions than toward the things related; but that no moment of 
cognitive consciousness is wholly lacking in the awareness 
either of relations or objects. The distinction between objects 
and relations simply names two features, the static and the 
dynamic, of a common phenomenon. The relational proc- 
esses are perhaps best characterised as attitudes. The mind 
is in a different condition of expectancy after hearing the 
word "and," from that which it manifests after hearing the 
word "if." These difPerences are no doubt often reflected in 
different overt motor acts and perhaps always by different 
nascent ones. Some of these motor expressions will be found 
appearing in the checking and releasing of the breath, as 
anyone may verify for himself. 

"We come next to consider conception, which constitutes the 
most overt and elaborate form assumed by our consciousness 



CONSCIOUSNESS OF MEANING 249 

of meanings a form in which psychologists and philosophers 
have always been specially interested. 

The Nature of Conception. — In our illustrations of the man- 
ner in w'hich we consciously avail ourselves of the lessons 
taught us by experience, we have implied that memory and 
imagination operate by summoning specific events which 
apply to the problem immediately confronting us. This is 
often the case. Thus, I find myself puzzled as to the best 
method for getting to some very remote country town. I 
attempt to recall what railroads I employed to get there a 
year ago, and I solve my problem by applying the recollection 
which comes to me of this particular achievement. I remem- 
ber that I took the A and B to junction D, waited two hours 
and got a train on the X and Y to my destination. But 
many cases in which we apply the fruits of past experience 
are of a different order from this. Thus, if I am purchasing 
scientific instruments from a French firm, I must convert the 
prices in their catalogue from francs into dollars. This I 
accomplish by first bringing to mind my idea of a franc, as 
being approximately a fifth of a dollar, and then performing 
the appropriate arithmetical operation. In this case I obvi- 
ously employ my memory in meeting my necessities; but it 
is memory in the form of reproductive imagination upon 
which I fall back, and not necessarily the memory of any 
single event or experience, as in the preceding instance. 
Again, I am interested in certain philanthropic efi'orts at 
social reform, and I find that the programme which I am 
invited to support involves belief in the hereditary nature of 
acquired characteristics. The theory at issue maintains that 
vicious traits are acquired and transmitted from parents to 
children, and my contribution is solicited in the furtherance of 
a project to prevent the possibility of sueh acquirement and 
transmission. Immediately I find my mind busying itself with 
the idea of heredity, and my final action is, perh-aps, determined 
by the conclusion which I am able to reach upon this point. 



250 PSYCHOLOGY 

Now in these last two cases my use of the idea of a franc 
or my idea of heredity clearly does not necessarily involve 
an immediate reference to any single and specific experience 
of francs or heredity. I might, of course, make the applica- 
tion in this way, if I chose. I might allow my mind to dwell 
on the last occasion upon which I sav*^ a franc, and on the 
last book in which I had read of heredity. But this is by no 
means essential, and often would not occur under such cir- 
cumstances as we have supposed. Accordingly, these ideas, 
to wit, franc and heredity, are mental devices by which we 
succeed in symbolising for ourselves in the one case a num- 
ber of objects, and in the other case a number of relations, 
without the necessity of calling to mind any particular occa- 
sion upon which we have come in contact with them. We 
use these ideas fearlessly in our reasoning, and when we have 
reached our conclusions we make the application to the con- 
crete instance in hand, with entire confidence that the event 
will justify our action — and generally it does. Such ideas 
as these are what are usually called concepts, and taking such 
cases for the moment as reliable illustrations, we may say, 
following the common usage, that conception is that mental 
operation hy means of which we hring together the common 
points of our various experiences and mentally consolidate 
them into ideas; ideas ivMch ive are then able to use as sym- 
bols, or representatives, of these manifold items. We apply 
the term " concept " to this idea, the term " conception " to 
the mental operation in which the idea is produced. The 
derivation of the, word concept (from concipere, to take in) 
may assist us to bear the facts in mind. 

If concepts are general ideas of the kind we have indicated, 
it is evident that we must possess them in large numbers. 
Concepts of men and horses, houses and trees, hats and tables, 
with others of like ilk, must constitute a large part of our 
mental furniture. We must also have concepts of such things 
as colour, odour, and sound; concepts of physical relations. 



CONSCIOUSNESS OF MEANING 25 1 

like position^, order, and time; concepts of moral attributes, 
such as good and evil, and dozens of other forms too numer- 
ous to mention. We shall probably get ahead most rapidly 
in our analysis if we take some special instance of conception 
and examine the mental processes involved in it. Take in 
this way one's general idea of horse. 

Concept and Image. — If I say to a group of persons, 
" Fix your attention firmly upon your idea of horse,'' a cer- 
tain number of them are sure to find a visual image of 
a horse arising in their minds. Another group will find that 
the auditory-motor word-image " horse " is present in their 
consciousness. IsTow, according to our definition, the con- 
cept of horse must not apply to any special horse, but it must 
represent all horses. How can the persons who are confronted 
with a visual image of some particular Bucephalus, or Eos- 
inante, be said to have any concept of horses in general ? The 
correct answer to this question is at once suggested by a ref • 
erence to the imagery of the second group of persons. 

The word-image " horse " evidently does not pretend ta 
refer to any one specimen of the horse more than to another. It 
is purely symbolic. When it comes into our consciousness to 
serve as a concept, it is as though we had agreed mentally 
with ourselves to accept it as a representative of the physical 
equine genus. Just as in algebra we allow the early letters 
of the alphabet to stand for certain quantities in our prob- 
lems and the later letters for certain others, making the 
appropriate practical substitutions at the completion of our 
computation, so here we symbolise certain objects to ourselves 
by means of auditory word-images. We mentally manipulate 
these image-ideas, draw certain inferences and then execute 
the substitutions, which in these cases are commonly overt 
acts. Having, for example, reflected by means of such con- 
cepts upon the shortcomings of horses, we decide to purchase 
an automobile. The concept, which is primarily mental, is 
eventually converted into movements which are physical. 



252 PSYCHOLOGY 

Now, the case of the persons who use visual images is in 
no respect fundamentally different from that of these users 
of word imagery. The visual image may, to be sure, for bet- 
ter or for worse, be a kind of copy of an individual in the 
class which it is supposed to represent. At least it is often 
a recognisable copy of one of our perceptions of such an indi- 
vidual. But provided that, in our use of an image, we rec- 
ognise it as really symbolising the class, and not an indi- 
vidual, and use it intending it to accomplish this purpose for 
us, it is a matter of considerable indifference what special kind 
of imagery we happen to employ, whether visual, or auditory, 
or motor. Of course word images are freer from the possi- 
bility of suggesting misleading concrete details than images 
of other varieties. But even they may be vitiated by erroneous 
implications of one or another kind. 

We shall now and then meet persons who will insist that 
their idea of horse does not involve any detectable imagery 
of an}^ kind. They "Just know" what horse means and that 
is all there is to it. People of this type represent several 
forms of reaction. In many instances this report is due solely 
to introspective obtuseness and lack of practice in detecting 
mental processes. "With some the imagery is of a fleeting 
vocal-word character which they readily overlook. With cer- 
tain ones there may be a suppressed pronunciation of the 
word and beyond this they employ no thought machinery at 
all. In a few cases there exists a very subtle form of motor 
imagery, or even overt movement itself may be used. The 
nascent movements, or images of movement, may be con- 
nected with the conceived object in any way whatever. They 
may, for example, be tracery movements of hand or eye. 
Anything to which the meaning ^Tiorse" can be attached will 
serve. 

Two important points emerge from the preceding examina- 
tion. (1) The concept normally involves an image, whether 
concrete, verbal, motor, or what not. A substitute for the 



CONSCIOUSNESS OF MEANING 253 

image in the form of nascent movement may possibly be 
employed at times; (3) Whatever image we use, it is the 
specific meaning which we attach to it that constitutes it a 
concept. These two considerations make clear how it comes 
about that our thought processes seem often so different on 
different occasions, even when we have been thinking about 
the same subject. Of course, the order of our thoughts might 
easily vary at different times, and our conclusions might vary. 
But how is it that we can think about the same things when 
the content of our thought is so different? The content of 
our thought is, so far at least as concerns the knowledge 
process, largely made up of imagery. To-day this may be 
principally auditory and verbal, to-morrow largely visual. 
It may be on the one occasion vivid and detailed, on the other 
evanescent and wholly schematic. But provided I use the 
different images to stand for the same meanings on the two 
days, I shall come out perfectly well and my thought will 
unquestionably have been about the same object and its rela- 
tions. Thus it comes to pass that, although we never have 
literally the same image present twice in our consciousness, 
we nevertheless can think the same meaning again and again. 

The Generic Idea. — This seems the appropriate place to 
refer to a theory which certain eminent psychologists have 
espoused, L e., the theory of generic ideas. The hypothesis 
upon which the theory rests is that our repeated visual per- 
ceptual experiences of tables, for example, result in producing 
a kind of composite mental photograph of tables. Such a 
composite photograph would evidently serve us whenever we 
wished to think of tables in general; that is to say, it would 
serve as a concept. We might use other images for the same 
purpose, conspicuously our word-images ; but we might equally 
well use this composite visual image. It is held, therefore, 
that the generic image is a sort of embryonic concept, more 
concrete than the true concept, but less concrete than the 
images of particular objects; in short, a, transition form.. 



254 PSYCHOLOGY 

We shall make only two comments upon this theory. In 
the first place it is extremely difficult to determine whether 
or not we really have such composite images. It would 
obviously be very difficult to say with entire confidence 
whether an image possessing the indefiniteness of outline and 
the indistinctness of detail which a true composite would 
undoubtedly possess, were actually a representative of innu- 
merable individual perceptions; or simply a blurred^ vague, 
imperfectly reinstated image of some single perception. In- 
trospectively, that is to say, the evidence can hardly be made 
conclusive in support of the theor}^ Moreover, the brain 
processes involved in the production of such an image are 
somewhat difficult to understand when brought into connec- 
tion with our supposed ability to call up images of specific 
objects belonging to a given class, of which we might also 
have a generic image. However, there is perhaps nothing 
impossible about the theory. 

In the second place, so far as concerns the function of 
conception, it appears at once that such a generic image 
would belong to the class of images which we may call " copy- 
images," in distinction from images which purport to be 
merely symbols. All images, are, of course, symbolic, so far 
as they stand for something not themselves, and all images 
are copy-images so far as they serve to reinstate special forms 
of sense perception. An auditory image may be in this way 
a copy, good, bad, or indifferent, of an acoustical perception. 
A visual image may likewise simulate some visual perception. 
But the auditory image may, on the other hand, serve to 
symbolise some visual experience, and the visual image, e. g., 
the visual image of a word, may also symbolise something of 
a non-visual character. Evidently, copy-images may be hope- 
lessly inadequate, as copies, to stand for generalised relations. 
So, to revert to our original illustration, a visual image of a 
table would, as a mere copy, be an unsatisfactory representa- 
tive of the class "table," for no single image could embody 



CONSCIOUSNESS OF MEANING 255 

all th.e peculiarities of all tables. This limitation would be 
as true of the comjDosite image, supposing it to exist, as of 
any other. It is only as such an image is employed sym- 
bolically that it serves satisfactorily as a concept of the class 
*' table/' But an image of any table whatever would serve 
this purpose well enough, provided only that in our thinking 
we used it with this recognised intention. Furthermore, the 
word-image, which commonly has no resemblance whatever 
to the objects symbolised, is always available. So that taking 
account of these considerations — the doubt as to the actuality 
of the generic image, and the absence of any special fitness 
in it for service as the basis of a concept — we may safely omit 
further discussion of it. 

Conception and Language. — Our analysis of conception has 
brought out the fact that it is by means of this mental proc- 
ess that we are able to make our thoughts the vehicles of 
definite meanings. It is a familiar fact that language has 
a precisely similar function. The inference at once suggests 
itself that language may be nothing but an elaborate con- 
ceptual system, and this inference is essentially correct. 
When we communicate with others we give our ideas outward 
expression in spoken words, which serve as concepts to the 
hearer. When we are engaged in reflective thought, we shall 
often find that we are thinking in terms of word-images, and 
these word-images in such cases serve as our concepts. Lan- 
guage is thus not only the great social medium of thought 
exchange, it is also in large measure the medium of subjective 
thought processes. 

Some psychologists maintain that all concepts are of the 
language variety, and philosophers formerly contended that 
no reasoning would be possible without language. Both of 
these views are undoubtedly too extreme. We do sometimes 
reason, and we may have a considerable number of concepts, 
without resorting to verbal language. !N"evertheless, the supple- 
mentary statement must be made that language is the great 



256 PSYCHOLOGY 

conceptual mechanism, and that we depend upon it far more 
than upon any other mental material for conveying our mean- 
ing, not only when we commune with others, but also in our 
own private thinking. 

In the use of spoken language, as well as in the use of 
verbal images when we are reflecting, the thought process is 
often so rapid that we have no distinct consciousness of the 
words as such. The stress of our interest and attention is 
upon the meaning which we are seeking, and this seems often 
to attach to the verbal activity in its entirety as a sentence, 
or a series of sentences, rather than to the isolated words. 
This fact does not, however, prejudice the truth of our gen- 
eral assertion that words serve as our most important con- 
ceptual symbols. 

Theories of the Origin of Language. — The origin of vocal 
language has been connected with a number of influences 
of which three may be mentioned. (1) Certain emotions 
lead instinctively to vocal expressions, e. g., the cry of fear 
and the snarl of rage. In the animal world such expressions 
are effectively employed as a means of communicating mental 
states. The theory of the origin of language from such cries 
is ordinarily known as the 'inter jectional.' (2) When cries 
of this kind and other natural sounds are imitated to indicate 
to others the object or condition which naturally produces 
them, e.g., barking to convey the meaning 'dog,' we have lan- 
guage in a more genuine sense. The theory that language 
arises in this way is known as the 'onomatopoetic' It may 
be more briefly styled the 'imitative.' This theory has been 
given certain very subtle elaborations into which we cannot 
go. Both the interjectional and the imitative theory empha- 
sise presumably true stages or factors in the process of lin- 
guistic development. The first probably indicates correctly 
the source from which the material of language is drawn. 
The second designates one method at least by which this 
material gains real linguistic properties. (3) We may add the 



CONSCIOUSNESS OF MEANING 257 

prescientific doctrine that language was giveii to man by 
direct act of Providence. 

Vocal language is originally not different in character from 
visible gesture which is quite competent to convey meanings 
and has from the first been employed for this purpose, wit- 
ness the practice of animals, primitive peoples, and deaf- 
mutes. Indeed, everybody uses such gestures to supplement 
the meaning of words. Among cultured peoples this is espe- 
cially true of the Latin races. Like all concepts, one of the 
most useful functions of the developed word is to suggest 
attitudes without the necessity of filling in details of mean- 
ing with concrete material. Words still retain therefore their 
primitive connection with gesture and attitude.* 

Language in Relation to Particular and General Ideas. — 
The conceptual use of language brings readily to our notice 
certain facts which bear significantly upon our present topic. 
We defined conception as a process of forming general ideas, 
and this seems to be the most striking feature in the process. 
But if words can be regarded as concepts, we must have con- 
cepts of individual objects as well as of classes; or at all 
events our method of thinking individual objects must be 
similar to our method of thinking classes. This is, indeed, 
the fact. We really have a concept of Jupiter, as well as of 
gods; a concept of earth, as well as a concept of planets; a 
concept of this particular book, as well as of books in general. 

*The choice of vocal movements rather than some other form of 
movement to serve the language function has been connected with 
various causes. We know that excitement produces muscular 
changes. The respiratory muscles are especially easy to affect in 
this way, and in large air-breathing animals at least audible sounds 
are inevitable consequences of such disturbance. Moreover, the 
vocal cords have no other important function to be interfered with 
by their vocal use for language. Sound is better material than light, 
which is its only serious competitor, for use in direct communica- 
tion, for it is more independent of constantly recurring conditions, 
e. g., darkness and intervening objects. These and other similar 
reasons probably account for the adoption of vocal sounds for lin- 
guistic uses, although such selection may in the first instance have 
involved very little of conscious choice. (Cf Judd, Psychology.) 



258 PSYCHOLOGY 

We have only to remember that conceptioii is after all at 
bottom simply a mental process of designating meanings, to 
see that we can in this way indicate any meaning we wish; 
e. g., the meaning of a single object or a dozen; the meaning 
of a mathematical relation, or of an historical relation; the 
meaning of a familiar object, or of an impossible one. In 
each and every case we shall have a concept, and in most 
cases a word, or a word-iimage, will be a very convenient 
device by means of which to think it. 

We may easily connect the process by means of which we 
gain concepts of single objects with the process by means of 
which we obtain general ideas of classes of objects, if we 
observe that in both cases we have simply set a boundary line 
about certain things; in the one case the boundary contains 
one object, in the other it contains an indefinite number. 
But in both cases our mental act has been the distinguishing 
of one kind of meaning from all other kinds of meaning. 
That form of the process in which our idea refers to some 
common property, or properties, of a number of experiences, 
like hardness, or blackness, or goodness, has commonly been 
regarded as the true type of conception, because we appear 
in such cases to have abstracted the common qualities of a 
number of events, then generalised upon these, and so obtained 
the concept, or general idea. But the process by which we 
reach a concept of a single object involves abstraction just 
as truly, if not so extensively, as the previous form of opera- 
tion. To obtain a concept of London involves setting the 
idea of London ofE against all other ideas; involves abstract- 
ing it in a perfectly definite way. In a sense, too, our 
concept of London is just as complete, just as universal, as 
is the concept city. It applies to all of its object, as truly 
as does the concept city, and it is in a measure an 
accident, an irrelevant incident, that the total object re- 
ferred to is, from the practical point of view, singular and not 
plural. 



CONSCIOUSNESS OF MEANING 259 

The process by which we actually come into possession of 
some of our more abstract general ideas is, perhaps, more 
complicated than that by which we gain our concepts of par- 
ticulars. But the fundamental distinction between the two 
kinds of concepts, after we have attained them, resides in the 
fact that the one emphasises points of identity and sameness 
among the various elements of our experience, the other 
emphasises primarily points of difference. Strictly speaking, 
then, we may be sure that we have concepts of single objects, 
as well as of classes of objects. We have, also, concepts of 
abstract attributes, concepts of relations of all kinds. There 
is no meaning of any sort accessible to our intelligence for 
which we may not have a concept. Indeed, in the broad 
sense of the term, every idea is a concept. 

On the whole it is, perhaps, easier to follow the older usage 
and to retain our original provisional definition of the con- 
cept as a generalising idea, and then to remember tl at such 
ideas sometimes generalise, so to speak, upon single objects, 
qualities, or relations, rather than to recast our definition, 
which would then vary somewhat ambiguously from that 
traditionally employed. After all, the fundamental points 
about concepts are those we have already mentioned, which 
evidently remain untouched by these questions of the number 
and character of the objects to which the concepts refer: that 
is, (1) the existence of the concept as a concrete thought, 
which we call an image or idea; and (2) the use of this 
image-idea to convey to ourselves, or to others, some definite, 
recognised, and intended meaning. 

Scientific Concepts. — It should, perhaps, be remarked at 
this point that the scientific and logical concept is generally 
credited with a higher degree of exactness and precision 
than our definition suggests. The concepts of science, such 
as "metal," are gotten by a process of abstraction and com- 
parison, the result of which is then expressed in the most 
rigorously exact verbal definition. Evidently, however, these 



26o PSYCHOLOGY 

are not the concepts of practical life. Scientific concepts are 
outcomes of definitely reflective processes, whereas the con- 
cepts of daily life have many of them originated in the rough 
"give and take" of practical experience, without any explicitly 
reflective deliberation at all. 

The General Function of Conception. — 'The general func- 
tion and value of conception in the economy of the psycho- 
physical organism is probably so obvious as to require no 
further elaboration. It may be described as the great sim- 
plifier of mental operations, the labour-saving device by 
means of which we are enabled to accomplish with single 
ideas the work which otherwise might require the cooperation 
of many. It only remains to call attention afresh to the fact 
that the mental capacity which permits this condensation of 
the meaning of many experiences into the meaning of a single 
image is generically one and the same with that apprehen- 
sion of meaning which renders perception intelligible, imag- 
ination significant, and memory coherent. 

Neural Process and Conception.- — So far as conception 
involves imagery, it necessarily follows that it depends upon 
the reaction of those areas in the cerebral cortex Avith which 
the several sense organs are most immediately connected. Be- 
yond this we can say very little, save that there seems some 
reason to believe that all the more reflective and ratiocinative 
forms of thought process involve in an important way the 
action of the Flechsig association centres. It must be 
frankly admitted that at the present moment the neural 
counterparts of these higher and more recondite phases of 
psychical activity are practically unknown. It seems clear 
that they must in large measure involve the action of the 
same areas that are concerned in perception and in simple acts 
of memory. But the nature of the differences in the form 
of the nervous action, when the psychical act is one of pro- 
longed reasoning with the use of elaborate concepts, as con- 
trasted with the mere accidental calling to consciousness of 



CONSCIOUSNESS OF MEANING 261 

some familiar visual image, for example, is still altogether a 
matter of speculation and hypothesis. 

The Genesis of Conception. — We have repeatedly seen 
reason to believe that mental life is in all essential respects 
like other life phenomena, manifesting periods of growth, 
maturity, and decay. This view leads us to expect a gradual 
unfolding of the typical phases of consciousness, which are 
at the outset latent in the infant mind, rather than the sud- 
den appearance at different times of totally new kinds of 
mental operation. The development of conception is no 
exception to this rule. 

The appearance of a rude type of recognition, which we 
have discovered to be the prototype of the developed act of 
conception, may be detected very early in infant conscious- 
ness. But it is exceedingly difficult, not to say impossible, 
confidently to designate the precise moment at which the 
first general idea is elaborated. The facts suggest that babies 
generalise in a rough way upon their experiences at a very 
early date. Or, if they do not positively generalise, they 
accomplish the same result negatively, by failing adequately 
to distinguish and analyse. Infants a few days old, if given 
some distasteful medicine, will often refuse utterly for hours 
afterward to take anything into their mouths, and for 
indefinite periods will reject the medicine itself. It would 
probably be absurd, however, to suppose that the baby has at 
this time a general idea of medicine, although one might with 
propriety speak of a generalised motor reaction. Nor would 
such a description detract from the genuinely conceptional 
nature of the reaction, for the concepts of adults may also he 
considered as forms of generalised motor activity. As soon as 
language appears, from the fourteenth to the twenty-eighth 
month, the formation and growth of general ideas is 
immensely augmented. But our previous assertion about the 
connection of concepts and language holds true here, and it 
is certainly reasonable to suppose that crude general ideas 



262 PSYCHOLOGY 

antedate tlie use of adult language forms. In this connection 
one must not forget that gestures — for example, smiling^ 
scowling, clenching the hands, etc. — are often vehicles for 
conveying conceptual relations, and that the inarticulate cries 
and vocalisations of various kinds which precede the intel- 
ligent use of words may also be regarded as primitive lin- 
guistic concepts. Thus, a certain sound means water, another 
means milk, and so on. The sign language of deaf-mutes 
affords admirable illustrations of the same types of expression 
for concepts. 

Incentives to Conceptual Development. — The natural 
incentive to conceptual development is to be found in the 
needs of the individual. We find ourselves confronted with 
a situation in which our old ideas are inadequate and unsatis- 
factory. These are the circumstances which lead children 
and adults alike to search for new ideas, for efficient con- 
cepts. JSTew notions in science, new inventions, the slow 
growth of myth and many of the articles of religious faith 
have this origin, i. e., the desire for concepts which will 
enable ns to master a given difficulty, whether practical or 
theoretical. The development of the concept of number 
offers a good illustration of the process. Until life has 
become somewhat complex and organised, number is not 
needed. Generally in connection with the accumulation of 
property of some kind the need arises of counting one's 
possessions in order that loss may be easily detected. Among 
certain savages this necessity is met by a very small series 
of numbers and they consequently are unable to count beyond 
five or ten. In civilised life such a number system would 
be grotesquely inadequate and the higher numerical rela- 
tions are demanded, together with the concept of number 
itself which we thus see has its origin in counting. 

When we seek illustrations in the range of our formal 
educational procedure it is not always so clear that the new 
concepts are gained in response to felt deficiencies in our 



CONSCIOUSNESS OF MEANING 263 

existing stock of ideas. The boy confronted with the con- 
cepts peculiar to the study of Greek and Latin and mathe- 
matics would often forego the attainment of them with 
definite complacency, not to say enthusiasm. It is evident 
that if he is to master these subjects he must first secure 
these concepts ; but it would sometimes be a sad j)erversion of 
the facts to say that the concepts are obtained as the result 
of a need felt by the boy. A child caught thus in the educa- 
tional machinery is often whirled about among needs, for 
which the ideas held out do indeed afford relief, but they are 
not always needs which the child himself feels. One has, 
however, only to glance at the history of any specific educa- 
tional system to recognise that in its inception each system 
was intended to fit its pupils for some special form of life, 
and in this vocation the studies offered really had a place. 
The adult has here attempted to anticipate in the most 
effectual way the needs which at some time the child is sure 
to feel. Fortunate the child who is brought up in a system 
which affords him ideas fitted to his own day and generation, 
instead of those appropriate to the times and conditions of 
his great-grandparents. 

The concepts which we get in the educational system may 
not always, then, reflect needs and difficulties of which we 
personally are as yet cognisant. But the system itself is an 
effort to epitomise the satisfaction of just those needs which 
in the human experience of the leaders of our race have been 
felt to be most imperative. Our general statement remains, 
therefore, essentially true, i. e., that our new concepts arise 
out of the inadequacy of those already on hand to cope with 
the conditions in which we find ourselves. 

The Process of Development of Concepts. — The develop- 
ment of our concepts after the period of infancy apparently 
proceeds along two main lines, which we can best discuss 
separately, although the two are at bottom really one: first, 
by the creation of essentially new concepts; and second, by 



264 PSYCHOLOGY 

the Gnricliment of old concepts with new material. An 
important factor in the formation of our concepts, i. e., the 
process of judgment, cannot be discussed until the next chap- 
ter, where we shall, however, revert briefly to the conceptual 
activity. 

A. Formation of New Concepts. — We have already seen 
that concepts are primarily based upon perceptual processes, 
just as memory and imagination are. We have also observed 
the way in which every perception, even the freshest and 
most novel, involves past experience. We shall, therefore, 
be safe in assuming that what we call new concepts are only 
partially new, and really contain a measure of familiar 
material. For example, when a boy first studies algebra he 
is introduced to the concept of the equation, to the concept of 
symbolism in quantitative procedure, to the concept. of nega- 
tive numbers, etc. Now, we speak of such concepts as being 
new to the boy, and so in a sense they are. But we must also 
recognise the fact that they are not wholly new, and that if 
they were they would be entirely unintelligible to him. The 
significance of the equation as a mathematical tool could 
never be grasped were the boy's previous experience incapa- 
ble of furnishing him the notion of equality as a starting 
point. 

What the boy does in getting hold of such a new concept 
as that of negative numbers is to compare the new notion 
with his old idea of number, to remark their likenesses and 
differences, and to throw into the foreground, by this process 
of discrimination, the most practically important features of 
the new case. The result of this procedure is the boy's first 
concept of negative numbers. These abstracting, discriminat- 
ing, and comparing activities are present in varying degree 
in all self-directed attainments of new concepts. 

This form of development of ideas displays in an unmis- 
takable manner the essentially organic nature of our knowl- 
edge. Each idea sprin/rs out of other ideas, which have 



CONSCIOUSNESS OF MEANING 265 

gone before, and in turn gives birth to new successors. The 
connection is not merely one of sequence in time; it is a 
connection of the genuinely developmental type, in which 
one idea is, as it were, unfolded from, and given off by, 
another. Ultimately, therefore, each of our ideas is related, 
however remotely, to all the others, a fact which constitutes 
one illustration of the so-called doctrine of the total rela- 
tivity of knowledge. Speaking metaphorically, but within 
the bounds of literal fact, we may say that the great tree of 
knowledge springs from the seed of that vague consciousness 
with which the infant's life begins. Differentiation followed 
by fresh synthesis, old experiences blended with new ones, 
each modifying the other — such is the course of progress. 

B. Enrichment of Old Concepts. — Hand in hand with the 
appearance of relatively new concepts goes the development of 
our old ideas. This development might be described as 
having two directions, but in reality the two are one. Our 
concepts seem sometimes to widen and sometimes to grow 
more narrow. Thus, we learn more every day about men 
and women, and so we may truly enough say that our con- 
cept of humanity broadens as our experience becomes richer. 
On the other hand our concept of science may, as our knowl- 
edge increases, become more and more restricted in its scope. 
Many branches of inquiry which would originally have found 
place under this heading may, in our maturer judgment, 
belong elsewhere. Both these processes are, however, simply 
different modes of reaching an identical result, i. e., the 
clarification of the precise meaning of our concepts. 

Every concept is in a sense a working hypothesis, a tenta- 
tive manner of thinking about things, and is subject at need 
to revision. Our idea of right is gained in childhood from 
parental precepts. If we do not stagnate morally, a time 
must come when we are obliged to reconstruct and modify this 
childish concept. As our knowledge becomes broader this 
process of reconstruction may go on indefinitely. This does 



266 PSYCHOLOGY 

not mean that we necessarily discard wholly the idea of right 
which we received from our parents. Far from it! It 
means that this idea was necessarily a child's idea, and so 
inadequate to certain adult experiences; and it becomes 
necessary to develop it in accordance with the new needs. 
The incentive to this form of growth in our concepts is, then, 
precisely identical with that which led to our getting what we 
call new concepts. It is clear that in a certain sense the 
process we have just described really gives us new concepts. 
But practically we think of the new idea as a modification 
of the old one. 

The doctrine is sometimes held that our concepts are 
unchangeable. The difference between this view and the oue 
we have been presenting is largely verbal. In a certain sense 
our concepts are unalterable. To use our last illustration 
again, I can remember what I meant by my childish idea of 
right, and can recall the idea when I will. In this sense the 
concept does remain a permanent part of my mental equip- 
ment, undergoing only such changes as may be due to fail- 
ing memory. But practically my adult concept which I call 
my idea of right is, as has just been shown, very different 
from this childish one out of which it has grown. 

The Petrifying of Concepts. — That concepts may cease to 
grow and change is shown by observation of persons who 
have once settled down into a fixed and narrow vocation 
in which radically new demands are rarely encountered, and 
when encountered, are found hopelessly baffling. In a degree 
this condition is likely to overtake everybody as middle age 
passes by. The result is too often the pathetic person of 
inflexible sympathies, circumscribed and dogmatic ideas — ■ 
the person who is sure the world is going to the bow-wows, 
and knows it was all much better in his own day. Such per- 
sons have ceased to get new concepts, and the old ones are 
inadequate. 



CHAPTEE XI 

JUDGMENT AND THE ELEMENTS OF REASONING 

The mental operations which we have thus far described 
find the culmination of their development in the process 
which we know as reasoning. This does not mean that 
reasoning is a totally new form of psychical activity, to which 
the others are subordinate. It means that in the process of 
reasoning the full implication and significance of these other 
conscious processes come cieariy to light, while in it they 
reach their completed evolution. Moreover, it does not mean 
that reasoning is a form of process which appears only after 
the other processes which we have studied have been devel- 
oped. Rudimentary reasoning is present from the beginning 
of conscious life in the human being, and is clearly involved 
in each of the processes we have thus far analysed. But in 
the gradual unfolding of consciousness, by means of which 
it comes to maturit}'', we meet more and more complex in- 
stances of reasoning, and at each stage we find it involving 
perception and memory and imagination and conception. 
At each stage it affords the best index of the real value of 
these other processes, and in its most elaborate forms it 
brings out in the clearest possible way their real function. 
We shall revert to these points more fully later in the chapter. 
We may define reasoning broadly as purposive thinhing, that 
is to say, thinking carried on in the interests of some plan 
which we wish to execute, some problem which we wish to 
solve, some difficulty which we wish to surmount. The 
remainder of our discussion will serve to explain an justify 
our definition. 



268 PSYCHOLOGY 

Analysis of Reasoning. — We are often told that the great 
educational value of mathematics lies in teaching us to reason 
correctly. Some hardy iconoclasts have ventured to ques- 
tion the extent of the value to be gained from the subject 
on this score, but at least it seems to be universally admitted 
that mathematics involves reasoning, and we may, therefore, 
judiciously seek from it an illustration of the reasoning 
process for our examination. Take the following arith- 
metical problem, reminiscent of the perplexities of the days 
of our academic youth. If thirteen melons cost a dollar and 
forty-three cents, how much should twenty melons cost? 
Most of us would solve this problem by finding the cost of 
one melon through the division of one hundred and forty- 
three by thirteen; and then the cost of twenty melons by 
multiplying this quotient by twenty. When the problem is 
distinctly understood, there instantly comes into our minds 
through our memory habits, the idea " cost of one melon " ; 
and straightway we find ourselves executing the relatively 
habitual process of division. This accomplished, our minds 
immediately turn — again by virtue of our mental habits — to 
the multiplication of our quotient by twenty. The reason- 
ing in a case of this kind, therefore, seems to involve the 
selection of certain ideas out of all those supplied us by the 
problem, the manipulation of these ideas in accordance with 
previously acquired habits, and the attainment of the solution 
by a proper combination of these two processes. So far as 
there is any originality in such a procedure, we must look 
for it in the skill and expedition with which we hit upon the 
right idea to work with, and the accuracy and promptness with 
which we apply to it the fruits of our previously acquired 
knowledge. 

Should we examine a little more closely the nature of 
these ideas which we employ, we should find that they are 
clearly concepts. Thus, melon is a concept, cost is a concept, 
cent is a concept, etc. Were we to give verbal form to the 



JUDGMENT; ELEMENTS OF REASONING 269 

several steps in the process, which we do not always do, we 
should find that we had such expressions before us as this: 
one melon eleven cents — eleven times twenty is two hundred 
and twenty, is two dollars and twenty cents. In other words, 
we put the concepts together in a form which the psycholo- 
gists call a judgment. A judgment, when put into words, is 
what logicians call a proposition, and what grammarians call 
a sentence. It accordingly appears that a process of reason- 
ing, such as that of our illustration, contains concepts com- 
bined in the form of judgments. We have already examined 
the nature of the concept, but judgment is a new mental 
operation to which we must now devote our attention. 

Analysis of Judgment. — It will facilitate our investigation 
to begin with those cases of judgment to which we give verbal 
expression, for they can readily be secured in a concrete form, 
stripped of the introspective difficulties which beset the 
analysis of other varieties. It will suggest itself at once that, 
if the judgment is in any measure equivalent to a proposi- 
tion or a sentence, we ought to gain assistance, in the distin- 
guishing of its principal forms, from the classifications of the 
grammarians and logicians. Although the exact meaning of 
mental judgments and linguistic propositions are not always 
identical, even where they have the same verbal form, never- 
theless many of these classifications are undoubtedly avail- 
able ; and we may expect to find assertative judgments, hypo- 
thetical judgments, disjunctive judgments, and so on. In the 
judgment, "the book is heavy," we have the concept heavy 
united to the concept book. On the other hand, in the judg- 
ment, " the book is not heavy," we have the concepts appar- 
ently sundered from one another. Even in this case, how- 
ever, it is obvious that in the mental state, of which the judg- 
ment is the expression, the two ideas were together, as truly 
as in the first case. It is only so far as the ideas refer to 
objects distinct from themselves that their separation is 
asserted. In the judgment, " if the storm is severe, the ship 



27© PSYCHOLOGY 

will be imperilled/' we have two pairs of concepts united to 
one another, i. e., "storm" and "severe/' "ship" and "im- 
perilled." Like the preceding cases, the ideas are brought 
together mentally, but the objective union of one pair is made 
dependent upon the objective union of the other. The judg- 
ment, "Mr. Smith is either a democrat or a populist/' gives 
us a typical instance of disjunction. The concept "Smith" 
is conjoined mentally with the two concepts " democrat " and 
" populist," and the objective union is asserted of one or the 
other.* In all these verbal precipitates of judgment Tve 
seem then to have two or more ideas mentally united in mean- 
ings which may imply either the postulated union or cever- 
ance of the objects to which they refer. 

Analytic-Synthetic Judgments.— Availing ourselves of a 
further classification which the logicians employ, we may 
speak of anal}i;ic or of synthetic judgments. "This wood is 
white," is an instance of the analytic judgment. It exhibits a 
property of the wood which is inherent in it, and may, there- 
fore, be said to involve an analysis of the concept, "this wood." 
"Wood is combustible" is a synthetic judgment, because it 
adds to the idea of wood the idea of combustibility, which is 
not immediately, nor obviously, implied in it. We shall pres- 
ently see reason to believe that synthetic and analytic judg- 
ments are psychologically really one, and for our present pur- 
pose we can at least see that they involve, like all the other 
cases which we have examined, the mental synthesis of con- 
cepts, whose objective union, or separateness, we mentally 
predicate. 

Genetic Relation of Concept and Judgment. — Having dis- 

*The so-called "impersonal judgment" has caused logicians much 
controversy. "It rains" is an instance of it. At first sight it 
appears as though such a judgment could hardly be said to involve 
a synthesis of two ideas, or concepts, at all. On the whole it seems 
probable that this form of judgment represents a primitive type of 
the judging activity, out of which possibly our more elaborate 
forms have developed. If this be true, the nature of the impersonal 
judgment will become evident as we go on with our analysis. 



JUDGMENT; ELEMENTS OF REASONING 27 1 

covered in these verbal judgments the constant presence of 
concepts, it will be well to revert to our account of their de- 
velopment, and detect, if possible, the relation of the 
judgment to this process. 

We observed, when studying the origin of concepts, that 
they spring out of the mind's effort to mark off, and render 
distinct, the various meanings with which it has to deal. We 
saw that in the course of experience these meanings grow in 
definiteness and scope, so that a concept which meets the 
demands of childhood often needs for the purposes of the 
adult either to be reconstructed or else discarded in favour of 
some more adequate notion. If we examine once again some 
specific instances of the attainment and development of a 
concept, we shall come upon an instructive fact concerning 
the relation between conception and judgment. If we con- 
sider in this way our concept badness, we find that it has its 
origin in our very early childish experiences in connection 
with certain acts for which we were reproved or punished. 
The notion of parental disapproval quickly became attached 
to such acts, and, as soon as language could be comprehended 
at all, we remarked that they received the common appella- 
tion, ^^ad.'' Unless our account of the memory processes be 
fundamentally defective, the thought of such deeds should 
call to mind, in however vague a wa)^, the undesirable conse- 
quences which had previously accompanied them. At this 
early stage, then, we must in a nebulous sort of fashion have 
brought together in our minds the idea of the act and the 
idea of its effects in the nature of punishment. 

Such a mental act obviously has implicit in it the 
beginnings of judgment, i. e., the assertion of a relation 
"between the mental elements. When, with increasing age, 
language finally comes to our assistance, we are easily able 
to apprehend the usage of our elders, and we straightway 
apply the term %ad" to all acts of a certain character. At 
this point the idea of badness is for us synonymous with a 



272 PSYCHOLOGY 

certain list of acts with which various kinds of adult dis- 
approval are connected. When we are inspired to perform 
such an act, we promptly execute mentally the judging proc- 
ess equivalent to labelling the act bad. Were we to put our 
thought into words^, we should undoubtedly have a verbal 
judgment. All of which seems to indicate with no great 
uncertainty that the origin of such a concept as "badness'^ 
is to be found in mental processes which are in their nascent 
stages crude, vague, undeveloped judgments, involving a 
rudimentary recognition of relations between certain more 
or less distinct portions of our experience. We get at these 
elements of experience mentally by means of rudely distin- 
guished ideas — in the case of our illustration the idea of 
the act and the idea of its consequences. Such concepts as 
this, i. e., badness, owe their creation, then, to elaborations of 
already attained ideas in a primitive form of judgment. 

Moreover, if we turn our attention to the subsequent his- 
tory of such a concept as badness, we find unmistakably, as 
was pointed out in the last chapter, that its development is 
accomplished by means of new judgments which are brought 
to bear upon it from time to time. In childhood, for exam- 
ple, badness may for a long time mean, among other things, 
disobedience. There comes a time, however, when possibly dis- 
obedience seems in some crisis the only alternative to lying. 
We have also identified lying with badness. What shall we 
do ? Well, whatever we do, we have at least laid the founda- 
tion for the reconstructive development of our concept of 
badness, by noting that disobedience may sometimes be neces- 
sary to the attainment of the maximal possible good. We 
Tiecessarily make judgments about badness in such a case, 
and the transformation, whether shrinkage or enlargement, 
which the concept undergoes, is a direct expression of the 
effect of judgment. The development as well as the origin of 
such concepts is, accordingly, most intimately bound up with 
the judging operation. 



JUDGMENT; ELEMENTS OF REASONING 27,^ 

Before generalising upon this single case, it would, of 
course, be desirable to examine every variety of concept in 
order to see if any of them originate independently of such 
judgments. This is, however, evidently impracticable, and 
we shall have to fall back upon the consideration that inas- 
much as the concept is always a mental recognition, or desig- 
nation, of specific meaning, there must, in the nature of the 
case, sooner or later be a judging process involved in it; for 
judgment is neither more nor less than the overt recognition 
and expression of just such relations as are embodied in the 
concept. We must not forget, however, that our common 
every-day concepts are often formed under the pressure of 
practical experience with little or no conscious reflection, and 
by means of the most rudimentary and implicit types of judg- 
ment. 

Order of Development of the Cognitive Processes. — This 
analysis inevitably raises the question as to what is the most 
primitive and fundamental mode of conscious operation to 
which we have thus far given attention. We have shown that 
the conceptual element is present in perception, and we had 
already explained that in a genetic sense perception evidently 
antedates memory and imagination. Now we seem to find 
judgment as a precursor of the concept. What is the real 
order of development among these activities? 

To secure a correct impression regarding the genetic rela- 
tions among these processes, we must resort to an analogy 
which we have employed on a number of previous occasions. 
The development of an organism of any kind is accomplished 
by means of the gradual unfolding of structures, and the 
gradual evolution of functions, out of undifferentiated 
matrices. The fertilised ovum contains in a way, implicit 
within itself, all the potentialities of the fully developed 
organism which may subsequently grow out of it. But no 
inspection which we could make of the ovum would enable 
us to detect these invisible members. Step by step the homo- 



274 PSYCHOLOGY 

geneity of the ovum gives way to more and more complex 
conditions, until finally the process of assimilation and dif- 
ferentiation issues in the full-grown organism. At each step 
in the progress toward maturity the several anatomical organs 
and the various physiological functions are moving together 
toward completion. At one stage one group of these ele- 
ments may seem further advanced than others, but there is 
nevertheless mutual dependence of each factor upon every 
other, and each member of the several groups is from the 
beginning represented by some forerunner, however crude. 

So it is with the psychical operations which we have been 
studying. Judgment, conception, memory, imagination, per- 
ception, and still other processes, which we have not as yet 
examined, appear in consciousness in crude embryonic form 
from the very first ; and each process, which we have described 
and analysed under one or another of these names, in its de- 
veloped condition really involves each of the other processes. 
At certain moments consciousness presents itself as domi- 
nantly engaged in the way we call perception, sometimes in the 
way we call imagination. But each operation involves tbe 
other, and it would hardly be possible to point to a stage in 
development where one was obviously present and the other 
obviously and altogether absent. 

Judging is in a precisely similar situation as regards its 
primary or secondary nature, its early or late appearance, in 
the history of the individual consciousness. We m.aj, per- 
haps, make this point clear most easily by examining the case 
of perception which we have seen to be present past all rea- 
sonable question from the earliest moments of waking life. 
When we perceive a familiar object, say a chair, the mental 
operation of cognising the object is essentially equivalent to 
the assertion, "this is a chair," or "this is a thing to sit 
upon." True, we rarely put the conclusion in this explicit 
form to ourselves, ISTevertheless, the mental process is prac- 
tically akin to the proposition, and in our first intelligent 



judgment; elements of reasoning 275 

application of names to objects it is exactly of this character. 
Indeed, the first childish exclamations, which represent in 
however amorphous a fashion the precursors of language, are 
of this type. The whole mass of feelings which such early 
infantile vocalisation may serve to indicate is often extremely 
complex and extended. One sound may designate an expe- 
rience, which as adults we should describe as "this-is-the- 
sound-of -the-coming-to-take-me-up-and-f eed-mo - which - is - a - 
delightful-experience." Another sound may represent judg- 
ments in the form of a command, such as '^I-am-hot-and 
I-wish-you-would-take-the-blanket-off." 

Let it not be supposed that we mean to credit the half- 
inarticulate infant with the mental recognition of all the dif- 
ferentiated elements in these cases to which we as adults are 
sensitive. Quite the contrary. It seems probable, as we 
saw, when we discussed attention and discrimination, that the 
early experiences of the baby are extremely vague, not in the 
sense of being positively confused, as adults sometimes are 
when embarrassed, but in the negative sense, in Avhich 
vagueness means absence of distinct, well-recognized mental 
control. These primitive judgments are rudimentary expres- 
sions of just such reactions upon those indefinite, undifferen- 
tiated features of infant consciousness as we find appearing 
in ourselves when we make judgments about our more highly 
elaborated and more definitely discriminated ideas. The 
earliest rudimentary processes of judgment consequently in- 
volve the manipulation of unanalysed masses of experience, 
which we subsequently discover, through processes of disso- 
ciation, comparison, and judgment, to be extremely complex. 
It is quite possible, as has been already suggested, that the 
impersonal judgments, such as '^it thunders," represent sur- 
vivals of assertions of just this primitive kind about total 
experiences whose elements are only vaguely and imperfectly 
analysed. 

Judgment as the Primitive Cognitive Activity. — It seems 



276 PSYCHOLOGY 

highly probable from the foregoing that in its original form 
all judgment is essentially a reaction upon immediately pres- 
ent perceptual experiences. Undoubtedly, rude judgments in 
which memory and imagination play leading roles may occur 
at a very early period. But it seems quite certain that their 
most important functions must come somewhat later than the 
periods during which perceptual judgments are first clearly in 
evidence. Moreover, inasmuch as these rudimentary forms of 
judgment appear to involve as their most characteristic fea- 
tures, like the highly developed ideational judgments, the 
recognition, or assertion, of relations, it seems impossible to 
deny that the simplest case of perception, with its connec- 
tion of a sensory stimulation with something already fami- 
liar, is also implicitly, at least, of the same genus as the judg- 
ment. 

When we ask, then, which of the several mental processes 
we have described is most fundamental, we must reply that 
if the question applies to the order of appearance in conscious- 
ness after the hypothetical first sensation, no single one enjoys 
this preeminence. They develop together, and are all, in one 
way or another, present from the oiitset of conscious life. In- 
deed, they owe their separateness chiefly to our analysis and 
not to any natural isolation from one another. If the ques- 
tion means, however, Avhich of the processes, as we have dis- 
tinguished them, exhibits most conspicuously the whole scope 
of cognitive conscious capacities, then we must probably reply, 
judgment; because in this activity the detection and manipu- 
lation of relations is possibly most obvious, and this undoubt- 
edly is the great mental achievement in the building up of 
knowledge and the controlling of conduct, to which ultimately 
all these processes revert for their final significance. In this 
sense, therefore, judgment is the most fundamental operation 
of consciousness on the cognitive side. 

Judgment a Process of Ordering and Organizing Mental 
material. — Before leaving this account of judgment and pass- 



JUDGMENT; ELEMENTS OF REASONING 277 

ing on to consider reasoning, a further word should be said of 
the fact which came to our notice a moment ago in speaking 
of the judging process in the primitive consciousness of 
infant life. Judgment undoubtedly begins with a process of 
disentangling the various constituents of some large and rela- 
tively vague experience. The operation which we described in 
an earlier chapter ias discrimination is commonly identical 
with these rudimentary judging processes. jSTow in so far as 
judgment does really deal in this way with the analysis of 
ideational (or perceptual) experiences, which are to start with 
undifferentiated wholes, it would seem to be necessary to 
regard it as a process in which relatively vague ideas are 
resolved into their definite constituents, rather than as a pro- 
cess in which already distinct and separate ideas are brought 
together. It will be remembered that our previous descrip- 
tion of it is more closely allied to the second of these views 
about it. As a matter of fact both views are correct in the 
conception which they emphasise, and the disparity between 
them is only apparent. 

Just as we saw was the case in the differentiation of the 
various sensations out of the relatively homogeneous con- 
scious continuum with which life probably begins, so the 
materials upon which our judgments are based and with 
which they deal are all necessarily elements of our own per- 
sonal experience. So far as we predicate anything of an 
object, — for example, "iron is a metal," — it may be said that 
we have simply dissected the idea of iron (our concept), which 
was already present to our minds, instead of adding to it 
some neiv idea, i. e., metal. Taken literally, this is a true 
statement of the facts. It is only false by virtue of that 
which it fails to add. The concept of iron is a concept dis- 
tinguished from that of metal. We not only may bring these 
two concepts together mentally, but we frequently do unite 
just such concepts in the form of judgments, which are prac- 
tically valuable to us in enabling us to emphasise such phases 



278 PSYCHOLOGY 

of our thoughts as are momentarily important for us. Judg- 
ment is, then, in its most explicit forms, undoubtedly a pro- 
cess in which we synthesise concepts in the course of noting 
and asserting relations. Yet the concepts which we thus unite 
are with equal certainty already elements of our stock of 
knowledge, and so we may seem to have made no gain by the 
judgment, much less to have added a new idea to some old 
idea. But the gain is often very real, because the synthesis 
may bring out relations of which previously we were not 
clearly cognisant. From this point of view judgment is not 
so much a matter of creating wholly new mental material as 
it is a matter of ordering and organizing our mental equip/- 
ment in the most efficient possible manner. 



CHAPTER XII 
THE FORMS AND FUNCTIONS OF REASONING 

Judgment and Heasoning. — From tlie illustration with 
which we set out in the last chapter in our first rough analysis 
of reasoning, we observed that the solution of the problem 
with which we were hypothetically engaged involved a series 
of judgments. We therefore turned aside to examine more 
closely into the nature of judgment; and we have discovered 
that this is an analytic-synthetic process, in which concepts 
are employed and elaborated. As the great majority of our 
important concepts have a linguistic basis, it goes without 
saying that reasoning makes almost constant use of language. 
It now remains to survey somewhat more fully the manner in 
which our judgments are combined to form the various types 
of reasoning. We proposed as a somewhat provisional defini- 
tion of reasoning, at the beginning of the last chapter, the 
phrase "purposive thinking," meaning by this to designate 
any thought process in which we were thinking toward some 
end, attempting to overcome some difficulty, or solve some 
problem. If we turn to certain familiar instances of this sort 
of thing in every-day life, we shall at once obtain an impres- 
sion of the fashion in which we make use of our judging ac- 
tivities. 

Practical Reasoning. — Suppose that we are about to make 
a long journey which necessitates a choice from among a num- 
ber of possible routes. This is a case of the genuinely prob- 
lematic kind. It requires reflection, a weighing of pros and 
cons, and the giving of a final decision in favour of one 
or another of the several alternatives. In such a case the 



28o PSYCHOLOGY 

procedure of most of us is after this order. We think of one 
route as being picturesque and wholly novel, but also as being 
expensive. We think of another as less interesting, but also 
as less expensive. A third is, we discover, the most expedi- 
tious, but also the most costly of the three. We find ourselves 
confronted, then, with the necessity of choosing with regard 
to the relative merits of cheapness, beauty, and speed. We 
proceed to consider these points in the light of all our inter- 
ests, and the decision more or less makes itself. We find, for 
instance, that we must, under the circumstances, select the 
cheapest route. 

Now, this process is evidently made up of a number of 
judgments, in which we have employed various conceptions of 
the routes and the consequences connected with their choice. 
Obviously, also, we have made constant use of the machinery 
of association by means of which the various connected ideas 
have called one another into the mind. Our conclusion is 
seemingly the outcome of a series of judgments, whose num- 
ber may be wholly indeterminate, and whose order is far from 
systematic. Nevertheless, the process results in a solution of 
the problem, the conclusion is essentially a reasoned one, and 
the operation is altogether typical of the fashion in which 
we actually deal with the practical problems of common ex- 
perience. 

T\Tien we look at the successive steps a little more closely, 
we see that such judgments bring into the foreground some 
aspect of the general prohlem which assists us in viewing 
the situation in its entirety. Thus, the idea of cost as less 
by one route than by the others proved in our final estimate 
to be of fundamental significance. But we could not isolate 
this element of the problem and conceive it aright until we 
had compared routes with one another, and considered all 
the expenses involved in each. Only then were we in a posi- 
tion to assert which route was cheapest. This crucial judg- 
ment issued immediately from our comparison of the several 



FORMS AND FUNCTIONS OF REASONING 281 

routes with one another, but the process of comparison was 
itself an indispensable step in reaching our final choice. We 
considered speed in a similar manner, and found that all the 
routes were satisfactory enough in this particular. 

Finally, the consideration of beauty and the pleasure of 
the journey is canvassed in like manner, and we find from the 
ideas which come into our minds that one route is markedly 
preferable. This factor of beauty remains, then, to settle 
accounts with the item of economy. The ultimate decision 
involves our taking stock of our financial status, past, present, 
and future, and the issue is settled on the basis of the story 
told by this set of facts. Each step in the process has been 
relatively simple, and entirely intelligible. We have allowed 
certain ideas, which we have abstracted in our mode of con- 
ceiving the problem, to take up by association other ideas re- 
lated to them in ways which bear upon the case in hand ; and 
from the judgments which we pass upon the meanings of these 
ideas our choice is made and our volition determined. Our 
effectiveness as practical reasoners (or theoretical reasoners, 
either, for that matter) will depend then, first, upon the skill 
with which we succeed in conceiving the problem correctly, 
and second, upon the speed and accuracy with which this con- 
ception suggests to our reasoning processes the recall of the 
special ideas appropriate to the case at hand. 

The whole series of judgments employed could finally be 
reduced to two or three (or possibly to one), which, as the 
outcome of our tentative weighing of now this claim and now 
that, have proved to be finally significant. In a sense the 
judgments have all been connected and related. They have 
all arisen in response to our persistent dwelling upon the 
problem before us. But a few of them depend upon one 
another in an even more intimate way, and these are the per- 
manently significant ones. For example: "Two routes cost 
more than $1000; I cannot afford to pay more than $800; I 
must therefore patronize the third route." 



282 , PSYCHOLOGY 

Value of Association by Similarity. — In so far as reasoning 

involves associative processes, it is clear that association by 
similarity will be of highest importance, especially in the 
more abstruse forms of thinking. The more complex types 
of problem with which we have to cope often require for their 
successful solution the application of facts and principles 
which have no connection with the matter in hand, save some 
fragile bond of similarity. The detection of these delicate 
links of relation is an achievement which characterises in high 
degree only the most remarkable minds, the geniuses. The 
rest of us find, to be sure, that we outstrip the brutes enor- 
mously in our capacity to employ this form of associative 
nexus. But the great revolutionary achievements in human 
reason have to wait upon the man and the hour, and when 
they are compassed, they generally reveal a marvellous mani- 
festation of the capacity for discerning similarity. Newton's 
formulation of the law of gravity may serve to illustrate the 
point. 

Eeasoning- and the Syllogism.— Now, to many persons the 
process of selecting a route for a journey will seem a mislead- 
ing illustration of reasoning, because it will not appear to be 
sufficiently abstruse, nor sufficiently orderly and inevitable. 
It will represent what they may prefer to call "practical 
reasoning," as we have done, although we have not meant by 
the use of the term to deny to the process the essential char- 
acter of reasoning. We shall be told that when we really 
reason we perform such mental deeds as the following syllo- 
gism exhibits: 

All men are mortal; 
Socrates is a man. 

Therefore 
Socrates is mortal. 

Here we are assured we have new facts attained by reason ; 
here is perfect order and symmetry, instead of miscellaneous 
groping for correct conclusions, which may, or may not, be 



FORMS AND FUNCTIONS OF REASONING 283 

attained J here are judgments arrayed in serried ranks, each 
supported by its neighbour, and the final judgment an irre- 
futable consequence of its companions, from which our think- 
ing set out. 

In response to this suggestion we have only to inquire 
whether or no our original thinking really goes on in this 
way, or whether this example illustrates the arrangement of 
which certain of our thought processes are susceptible after 
they have been pruned of excrescences. Our own view about 
this question is doubtless indicated by the mode in which we 
have approached it. There can be no doubt that the cele- 
brated syllogism which we have just proposed reveals an 
extremely fundamental fact about the relations of certain of 
our judgments to one another. That the syllogism also repre- 
sents the actual mode in which we commonly reach (Conclu- 
sions is altogether another proposition, and to one which 
assent certainly cannot be given. The question here at issue is 
purely one of fact, and each one must determine for himself 
whether in his reasoning processes he finds himself proceed- 
ing in the syllogistic manner. 

When we examine our thinking, with this question in mind, 
most of us find that neither as regards the order of the 
several steps, nor as regards their number, does our com- 
mon reasoning comply wth the pattern of syllogism. In 
instances like that of our illustration we should rarely have 
any recourse to the second proposition, or the minor premise, 
as logicans call it, even provided we found it necessary to 
consider the truth of the conclusion. Moreover, it would as 
a rule be only in case we found it necessary to verify the truth 
of the concluding proposition that we should revert to either 
of the other propositions; and then the order of our 
thought would be — first, the conclusion; second, the major 
premise. So that neither the order nor the number of judg- 
ments corresponds to the syllogism with which we started. 

As a device for exhibiting the source of our confidence in 



284 PSYCHOLOGY 

the truth of the conclusion, the syllogism undoubtedly pos- 
sesses a value; for it makes explicit and clear in the fewest 
possible words the fundamentally important relations among 
the ideas involved. It is, however, as a method of exposition, 
demonstration, and proof, rather than as a type of actual 
constructive thinking, that it gets its chief significance. Nev- 
ertheless, it possesses one characteristic which is peculiar to 
many reflective processes, and to this we must briefly refer. 

Deduction.— The major premise — "All men are mortal" — 
contains an assertion of a general principle which we have 
observed that we may use as a principle of verification for 
such an assertion as that of the conclusion — "Socrates is 
mortal." Now, general principles play essentially the same 
role in our thinking as do the general ideas which we dis- 
cussed in the chapter on conception. They summarise, just 
as concepts do, large masses of human experience, and in our 
purposive thinking we repeatedly have occasion to employ 
them. We might call them complex concepts. 

These general principles represent the counterparts In our 
conscious operations of the principle of habit in our motor 
coordinations. Just in so far as we regard them as really 
stable and well established, we use them almost reflexly in 
our thinking, and apply them without more ado to the deter- 
mination of conclusions about such facts as they may con- 
cern. Thus, having assured ourselves that a certain act is 
really stealing, we instantly class it as despicable and wrong; 
having learned that a substance of peculiar appearance is 
wood, we are immediately prepared to find that it will burn; 
if we hear of the discovery of a new planet, we assume without 
question that it will possess an elliptical orbit. These reac- 
tions consist in applying to appropriate things the habitual 
accompaniments of specific objects, or events, in the form of 
general ideas, or principles, concerning similar objects and 
events. Such a process lends perspective to the special sub- 
ject to which the principle is applied, by bringing it into 



FORMS AND FUNCTIONS OF REASONING 285 

overt connection with the experience to which it may be most 
immediately germane, while it enriches and fortifies the gen- 
eral principle itself by adding to its scope a new and definite 
instance. It demands no argument, beyond the mention of 
the facts just described, to demonstrate that we make a con- 
stant use of general principles in some such fashion as this. 

The problem is at once suggested by the foregoing discus- 
sion of deduction, as to how we obtain the general principles 
therein at issue. This brings us to the complementary proc- 
ess which logicians designate induction. 

Induction. — According to the familiar accounts of it, induc- 
tion is the operation by means of which we come to generalise 
upon individual events. For example, having observed num- 
bers of specific instances of the phenomenon, we come to the 
conclusion that all paper is combustible. In a similar way 
we come to assert that all mammals have lungs, that masses 
attract one another, etc., etc. 

Criticism of Induction. — Now, logicians have argued at 
great length upon the question whether we really succeed by 
inductive inference in going beyond the particular facts 
which have actually been examined. They have also consid- 
ered at great length the criterion, or warrant, upon which 
inductive principles proceed, supposing that they ever do 
transcend the facts from which they set out. Sometimes it 
has been maintained, for example, that the inductive general- 
isation, "All men are mortal," which is based upon our 
examination of a finite number of cases of human mortality, 
obtains its ultimate significance for knowledge simply by 
virtue of the assumed uniformity of nature. What has hap- 
pened a number of times will always happen under like con- 
ditions, is the meaning of this view. Or, stated more rigidly, 
whatever has happened under given conditions will always 
happen under the same conditions. On this basis a single 
occurrence of a phenomenon, if thoroughly understood, would 
justify a generalisation about all other instances of the 



286 PSYCHOLOGY 

phenomGnon. Many othei" views of the matter have been 
defended, but we can hardly enter upon them. Suffice it for 
our purposes to observe that whatever may be the final merit 
and reliability of inductive inferences, we do in our actual 
thinking make constant use of such generalisations, and on 
the whole with practical success. 

Indeed, after our account of habit and association and our 
account of the formation and development of concepts, we 
should be ill-prepared for any other conclusion. Having 
found a certain characteristic common to a large number of 
events, it could not well be otherwise than that we should be 
predisposed by the principle of habit to connect this character 
with all other events which we Judged to be of like kind. This 
would tend to occur on the level of mere trains of associative 
ideas, as in revery, where it might, however, often escape 
attention ; it would also come out clearly in the recognition of 
points in common among such occurrences as we found our- 
selves obliged to reason about in the course of overcoming 
difficulties, whether practical or theoretical. Thus in revery 
our thoughts might run upon the planets, and as the ideas of 
them passed through our minds we should probably think of 
them all as spherical, and yet this common property might 
escape our definite notice. In reasoning, however, we should 
often find it indispensable to emphasise common qualities of 
this kind. So, for instance, in attempting to predict weather 
conditions we should speedily find it necessary to proceed on 
the generalisation that all low barometric phenomona were 
indicative of storm formation. The same exigencies, there- 
fore, which lead us to form general ideas, also lead us to that 
special type of idea which we more often call a general prin- 
ciple and express in a proposition. 

It may be added that undisciplined minds, following a 
tendency natural to us all, constantly generalize on single 
events which are imperfectly understood and consequently 
fall into persistent error. The fallacy consists, however, not 



FORMS AND FUNCTIONS OF REASONING 287 

SO much in generalising on one event as in generalising on an 
event which is not correctly or fully apprehended. 

Deduction and Induction Compared.— In comparing deduc- 
tion and induction it is often said that induction necessarily 
precedes deduction, because we obviously cannot apply our 
general principles until we possess them, and it is by means of 
induction that we obtain them. It is also said that in deduc- 
tion our thought proceeds from the more general to the less 
general, from the universal to the particular; whereas in in- 
duction the order of procedure is reversed. There is an ele- 
ment of truth in both assertions, but this form of expressing 
it is certainly misleading. 

The truth in the first contention consists in the fact that 
all general principles are based upon particular experiences. 
But this does not mean that inductive processes occur first, 
and then at a later step deduction appears. Both kinds of 
process go on together, as we shall see in a moment. Indeed, 
strictly speaking, they are in the last analysis simply two 
phases of one and the same process. The truth in the second 
assertion resides in tbe fact that some portions of our think- 
ing proceed under relatively more habitual forms than others. 
The deductive process represents the application of a mental 
habit, or principle, to a practical case, under just such condi- 
tions as we have already described. The inductive process 
represents more distinctly the formation of these halits of 
thought. In both cases, however, so far as concerns the prog- 
ress of the successive thoughts, we always find that the 
advance is from particular to particular. Moreover, the 
advance is not so much an advance from the particular idea 
X to the independent and particular y, now shown to be 
related in some way to x, as it is a development of the idea 
X, hitherto undifferentiated in this special fashion, into the 
idea x containing a y relation. Thus, the generalisation 
about low barometric conditions and storm formation is not a 
mental process in which two wholly disconnected ideas are 



288 PSYCHOLOGY 

brought together. It is simply a process in which the hith- 
erto unspecified experience "low-barometer-storm-forma- 
tion^' is resolved into its fuller significance for practical use. 
Similarly, in subsequent deductive operations with this prin- 
ciple, i. e., all low barometric conditions indicate storms 
imminent, we proceed from the particular idea "low barome- 
ter,^^ to the particular idea "storm forming." However con- 
venient, therefore, it may at times prove to speak of passing 
from the general to the particular, and vice versa, we must 
remember that in our actual thought processes we always 
juxtapose particulars; or more precisely, we deal with dis- 
criminable features of a single mental particular. Of course 
it will be understood from our study of the development of 
concepts that these particulars are under this treatment 
modified incessantly, both by expansion and contraction. 

Habit and Adaptation in Deduction and Induction.— 
We have seen from time to time throughout our work that 
each mental process which we have examined contains some 
old features and some new features, that it reflects the prin- 
ciple of habit and the principle of fresh adjustment to novel 
conditions. Induction and deduction are further illustra- 
tions of this same fact. Just as in perception we observed 
the new element in the sensory stimulus, and the old element 
in the reaction by a modified cortex, so we have seen that' 
induction represents that function of our purposive thinking 
in which the new adjustment is uppermost; whereas deduc- 
tion represents more conspicuously the application of ac- 
quired habits. If the parallel is really genuine, we should 
expect to find, as we have at each, previous step, that the two 
attributes of novelty and familiarity in the elements employed 
are never entirely dissevered from one another, and so we 
should expect to find substantial warrant for our remark a 
few lines above, that induction and deduction are but phases 
of a common process. That they are actually conjoined in 
this way does not mean that they always are met with in a 



FORMS AND FUNCTIONS OF REASONING 289 

condition of perfect balance. It may much more naturally 
be expected that sometimes one and sometimes the other 
will present itself as more immediately important and more 
properly conspicuous. We have seen an analogous case in the 
instance of memory when compared with some kinds of per- 
ception. In the one case the obvious emphasis falls upon 
the new, in the other upon the old. So it is in reality with 
the relation between deduction and induction. 

In reaching the induction, "all low barometerr=storm 
formation,^' we may suppose a number of instances to have 
been examined before the generalisation is made. Now, the 
intelligent apprehension of the terms concerned in the judg- 
ments, that is, low barometer and storms, evidently involves 
a reference back to past experience, to past factors of knowl- 
edge, which is, as we have seen, the essential feature of deduc- 
tion. Moreover, the actual procedure by which we assure 
ourselves of the tenability of such an induction consists in 
comparing mentally each new instance with previous similar 
instances. In this operation the old experiences practically 
occupy the place of general principles, under which we array 
the new case. So that the deductive characteristics are evi- 
dently present in an unmistakable way in inductive forms 
of reasoning. 

Conversely, when we apply a general principle, or infer that 
a special consequence will follow an event, because of the 
general class to which it belongs, we inevitably avail ourselves 
of inductive methods, in so far as we label the new fact. 
When we predict a storm because we observe a fall in the 
barometer we are in reality dealing with a new specific 
instance, which we generalise in an essentially inductive way. 
We may call it a case of deduction, because we have already 
convinced ourselves of the invariability of the' connection 
between the storm phenomena and the particular barometric 
conditions. ISTevertheless, the actual mental pr<ocess by 
means of which we make the prediction is quite as truly 



290 PSYCHOLOGY 

characterised by induction. We may feel reasonably con- 
fident, therefore, that the reasoning processes do not constitute 
any exception to the rule which we have previously enun- 
ciated, that all cognitive mental operations involve both old 
and new factors. 

Reasoning and Purposive Thinking. — It ought now to be 
fairly clear that the precise significance which we attach to 
the term reasoning is largely a matter of arbitrary termi- 
nology. Undoubtedly some of our purposive thinking takes a 
highly abstract and systematised form. Undoubtedly, also, 
most of it goes on in a much more concrete, miscellaneous, 
hit-and-miss fashion. But it is essentially impossible to draw 
any sharjD line marking ofi' the more orderly and exact pro- 
cedure from the more promiscuous form ; and, as the presence 
of a dominating purpose, plan, or interest seems to control 
the ideational processes in both cases, it has seemed the 
simpler and more natural thing to call all purposive thinking 
reasoning. We are then entirely able to recognise stages of 
abstraction and complexity in the execution of such thinking 
without any sacrifice of regard for the facts. 

Stages in Reasoning Processes. — We may distinguish three 
such stages separated from one another by no abrupt lines of 
demarcation, but designating three fairly distinct degrees in 
the levels of complexity and abstractness found in purposive 
thinking. First, there is the sort of persistent psycho-motor 
activity, relatively random in type, by means of which animals 
generally accomplish their purposes when called upon to 
meet novel situations. This sort of thing is illustrated by 
the efforts a hungry animal makes to get food when he is 
shut up in a cage. Second, there is the kind of process which 
involves meeting a difficulty simply by calling upon memory. 
This may be illustrated by the case of wishing to telephone 
a friend and, in the absence of a directory, being thrown back 
upon one's memory of the telephone number. Both these 
forms have various modifications. Thirdly, there is the 



FORMS AND FUNCTIONS OF REASONING 291 

process of reasoning in the narrower and more precise mean- 
ing of the term, in which a problematic situation is analysed 
and conceived in one fashion after another, and the abstract 
ideas thus precipitated are allowed to call up from past ex- 
perience the associates relevant to the solution of the problem 
thus conceived. In the typical form of these cases, the old 
experience has itself to be split up and conceived in a new 
way appropriate to the special exigency at issue. This sort 
of process is represented by the steps involved in making 
some of the more complex mechanical inventions. The par- 
ticular problem to be solved has to be isolated and clearly 
formulated. Then the items of old experience have to be 
canvassed and conceived in novel ways in order to permit 
application to the new case. Of course in certain instances 
totally new materials or results are encountered which were 
not anticipated, but wherever the outcome is a legitimate 
consequence of the reasoning, our description holds good. 

General Function of Reasoning. — In reasoning, with its 
employment of concepts in judgments, we meet with the most 
highly evolved of all the psychical devices for assisting the 
adaptive activities of the organism, and -this notion of its 
general significance is so familiar that it requires no detailed 
justification. Certain features of its practical operation may, 
however, profitably be described, especially in connection with 
our general notion of the relation between conscious and 
neuro-muscular processes. 

In the original sensory stimulations of early infant life 
we have seen that there is a general overflow of the nervous 
energy into miscellaneous motor channels, occasioning hetero- 
geneous and uncoordinated movements of various parts of the 
body. We have also traced in outline the process of the devel- 
opment by means of which the motor escapement becomes 
confined to certain limited and definite channels, and thus 
succeeds in establishing coordinated habitual movements. 
We have seen that these coordinations become more and morf 



292 PSYCHOLOGY 

elaborate as growth proceeds, and we have noted that in this 
development the psychical processes which we have analysed 
as perception, imagination, and memory play an amazingly 
important part. Now, so far as we mean to cover by the 
term reasoning all purposive thinking, it is clear that these 
various mental operations just referred to can only contribute 
in a significant way to the modification of motor reactions in 
the measure in whic^i they enter into processes of reasoning. 
It must be remembered again, that our purposive thinking is 
sometimes very rudimentary, simple, and abrupt; and at 
other times highly complicated, prolonged, and abstract. In 
reasoning we really find brought together and focalised all 
the important characteristics of the various mental modes 
which we have thus far studied. 

This may be shown in the case of memory, as an illustra- 
tion, but it is no truer to the facts here than it would be in 
the case of perception or imagination. If memory operated 
so as to bring into our consciousness ideas of our past experi- 
ences, but without any special reference to some present need, 
it would possess a certain intellectual interest comparable 
with that of a geyser, or other irregular natural phenomenon. 
But it would be an almost wholly useless adornment of our 
mental life. It is because memory enables us to recall experi- 
ences when we need to bring to bear upon some present per- 
plexity the significance of our past experience that it assists 
us in getting ahead in the world. It is, in short, the part 
which it plays in purposive thinking which gives it its value. 
Moreover, this significance of the past experience is a thing 
which concretely brings with it tendencies to certain modes 
of action. It is not a mere reinstatement of ideas with 
which we are dealing in such a case. It is a reinstatement of 
ideas connected with which are certain quasi-habitual actions. 

Similarly, though not always so obviously, with perceptual 
activities. If I am engaged in writing, tohat I perceive (my 
hand, the words, etc.) is certainly in part determined by my 



FORMS AND FUNCTIONS OF REASONING 293 

mental operations at the moment. ISTot only so, but my per- 
ceiving of the pen and paper are processes directly contribu- 
tory to the expression of my purpose in my writing. The 
perception is taken up into the purposive thinking of the 
moment; or, expressing the facts more accurately, it is itself 
an integral part of the onward movement of my general pur- 
posive thought activities. I cannot execute efficiently that type 
of purpose which gets expression in writing without the 
assistance of the perceptual act. Always somewhere imbedded 
in the general matrix of our conduct, whether lying near the 
surface or deeply hidden in the recesses of our inner con- 
sciousness, we come upon purposes, plans, intentions, which 
explain our whereabouts and our action ; and upon these basal 
factors rest our particular perceptions, as well as our other 
mental acts. 

Neural Counterpart of Reasoning. — In a diagrammatic 
manner, but only in such manner, we can indicate the general 
neural counterpart of our purposive thinking, whether in its 
simpler, or in its more elaborate forms. In the case of our 
more distinctly habitual coordinations we long since observed 
how with a minimum of conscious accompaniments a sen- 
sory stimulus may make its way in the form of neural excita- 
tion from a sense organ directly through the (lower?) centres 
to appropriate muscular groups. This case is illustrated in 
the movement of the hand to throw the latch of a familiar 
door. In the case of stimulations which require a conscious 
reaction, whether simple or complex, the motor discharge 
is postponed, sometimes only for an instant, sometimes in- 
definitely. A typical instance which brings out the more 
important features of cases where persistent perplexities are 
involved is the following: 

A man sleeping in a strange building is awakened by an 
alarm of fire. He hastily rises, throws on some clothing, and 
starts for the stairway. Up to this point the course of the 
successive neural events has been — auditory stimulus, memory 



294 PSYCHOLOGY 

activity, motor response with habitual coordinations, involved 
in dressing and running toward the remembered stairway. 
He finds the stairway already filled with smoke. Escape in 
this way is cut off and he turns back. Again sensory stim- 
ulus — this time partly visual, partly olfactory and auditory — 
and motor response of the habitual variety. His next 
thought is of a fire-escape, but none is to be discovered. He 
tries other rooms, but also mthout success. In these move- 
ments we have successive expressions of sensory stimuli, with 
memory intermediaries suggesting fire-escapes, each group of 
stimulations discharging into movements carrying him from 
place to place. Terror has rapidly been overcoming him, and 
his motions become violent and ill-controlled. Thus far his 
"reasoning" belongs wholly to the first two stages which we 
distinguished. 

Let us suppose that at this point he begins to search for a 
rope to let himself down with. In the absence of any real 
rope, he suddenly hits upon the idea of using the bed-clothes 
for his purpose. By tying them together he manages to make 
a support upon which he swings himself to safety on the 
ground below. If he had not previously heard of such a use 
for bed-clothes, his thought would involve one essential feature 
of the most abstruse reasoning included in our third stage, 
i. e., the abstracting through conception of one aspect of a 
situation, and the novel application of it to the effective meet- 
ing of a problem. 

In this case we have essentially all the stages of practical 
reasoning processes involved. We have a problem, or a dif- 
ficulty, reported in the form of a stimulus, which cannot be 
dealt with in a purely habitual, non-conscious fashion. The 
first effort to meet this obstacle consists in cortical excitations 
of relevant memory processes, and the expression of these 
in the forms of acquired coordinated movements. In many 
instances the first or second effort would, of course, have 
achieved success and cut short the remainder of the process. 



FORMS AND FUNCTIONS OF REASONING 295 

In some more distinctly intellectual forms of problem the 
memory process would not necessarily express its bearings in 
the form of actual movements executed at the moment. But 
the excitation of the cortical activities is of precisely the same 
kind, and has precisely the same significance, as in the hypo- 
thetical case we are considering. Whenever the coordinations 
employed at the summons of the memory process, in the way 
we have described, prove inadequate to meet the difficulties in 
hand, there is always this same progress from one reaction to 
another, or else a recourse to the more abstract type of 
reasoning suggested in the illustration. 

If the problem constitutes an insignificant stimulus, one 
or two failures to solve it may result in the abandonment of 
the effort in favour of some more pressing interest which 
enlists our more vivid feeling. But when, as in the case of 
our illustration, the significance of the problem is compelling, 
we often meet, after the failure of all the reactions suggested 
by memory and reasoning and executed by habitual coordi- 
nations, a remarkable phenomenon. The stimuli apparently 
continue gathering power, which can no longer be drained 
off in coherent motor responses, and presently we see very 
much what we observed with babies, i. e., the breaking over 
of the neural excitement into almost every motor channel. 
We speak of persons in such a condition as panic-stricken. 
This diffusion in the case of infants is wholly uncoordinated, 
whereas with the adult it is coordinated in a measure, but 
incoherently, and with reference to no single purpose. Never- 
theless, such mal-coordinations, which at least serve to bring 
the organism into new conditions, are sometimes, as in our 
illustrative case, successful in providing escape from diffi- 
culties. Animals make large use of such violent and random 
movements whenever they are confronted by strange and ter- 
rifying conditions. If, after memory and reason have done 
their work, there still be need for other forms of reaction, 
this sort of general motor explosion is really all that there is 



296 PSYCHOLOGY 

left to fall back tipon. Our supposititious man miglit have 
thrown himself out of the window, as many others hare done 
under the intellectually stupefying effects of extreme fear, 
but even so, the neural process would have been highly similar 
to that which we have described, and it represents the con- 
sequences of a practical breakdown in the coordinated move- 
ments suggested by memory as competent to meet the case 
at hand. 

The neural process in the more abstruse forms of reasoning 
is probably quite like that which we have now described, save 
as regards the delicacy and infrequency of the associative 
links by means of which we pass from idea to idea in our 
effort to overcome mental difficulties. Sensory discrimina- 
tion, intellectual abstraction, memory processes, judgments of 
comparison, habitual coordinations — in varying degree and in 
shifting combinations these factors are present in all types 
of reasoning, from the most concrete and simple to the most 
complicated and abstract. 

Genesis of Reason in Human Beings. — The precise moment 
at which a child passes out of the stage of mere perceptual 
thinking and succeeds in creating concepts detached from 
particular events is not one that we can exactly determine, 
nor is it important that we should do so. It certainly comes 
in a rudimentary way with the voluntary control of his 
muscles, and it grows rapidly as soon as he gets control of 
language. In general, it may be said that its appearance 
is largely dependent upon the demands which the child's 
environment makes upon him. So long as he is a mere vege- 
table, fed and watered at definite intervals, conceptual think- 
ing is of no great consequence. As he comes to attain more 
complex social relations, and as he finds himself surrounded 
with increasingly complex situations to deal with, conceptual 
thinking, with its classifying, simplifying characteristics, 
becomes essential to effective adaptation. Moreover, when such 
thinking does appear, we know that the child is beginning the 



FORMS AND FUNCTIONS OF REASONING 297 

evolution of that special part of his mental life which marks 
him off most definitely from the higher brutes. The 
organically purposive character of consciousness is of course 
manifest in its earliest and most rudimentary expressions, as 
has been repeatedly emphasised. 

The Reasoning of Animals. — We gain an interesting side- 
light upon the reasoning processes of human beings, and 
especially upon the development of reasoning in children, by 
observing certain of the mental operations of animals. Two 
extreme views have been popularly entertained concerning 
the reasoning powers of animals. One of them is repre- 
sented by the disposition to apostrophise man as the sole 
possessor of reason, the lord of creation, ruling over creatures 
of blind instinct. The other view has found expression in 
marvelling at the astounding intellectual feats of occasional 
domestic animals, or at the shrewdness and cunning of their 
brethren of the wild. Both kinds of animals have been forth- 
with accredited with the possession of reasoning powers of no 
mean pretensions. Of recent years rapid advances have been 
made in the scientific observation of animals, and it seems 
probable that at no remote day we may possess a fairly ac- 
curate impression of the scope and nature of their psychical 
lives. Meantime we must speak somewhat conservatively and 
tentatively. 

Many of the acts of animals which have enlisted the most 
unbounded admiration are undoubtedly purely instinctive. 
And not only so, but it seems probable that many of these 
instincts are unconscious and just as truly reflex as the most 
uncontrollable of human reflexes, such as the iris. Thus, 
the remarkable actions of ants, whose astonishing system of 
cooperative government has furnished so many fine rhetorical 
figures, are apparently due to refiex reactions, to stimula- 
tions chiefiy of an olfactory kind, to which they are probably 
obedient in an almost purely mechanical way. 

Many acts of animals, which are at least effective expres- 



^ / 



298 PSYCHOLOGY 

sions of mind, seem upon close examination to consist simply 
in associating certain impulses or acts with certain objects or 
situations. The original associating of the correct elements 
may have come about more or less accidentally, and is cer- 
tainly often the result of many random trials. Thus, a young 
rat, in attempting to get into a box containing cheese, the 
entrance to which requires his digging away an amount of 
sawdust at one particular spot, will often scamper many times 
around and over the box before starting to dig. If after dig- 
ging and finding the correct spot, he be removed and the 
sawdust replaced, the same sort of operation generally goes 
on as did at first, only now he succeeds much more rapidly 
than before. After a few trials he goes almost instantly to 
the correct spot, makes few or no useless movements, and 
promptly gets his reward. 

In cases of this kind we see an animal endowed with a 
large number of motor impulses, which enable him by virtue 
of his sheer restlessness to achieve his original success in 
getting food. "Try-try-again" is the principle involved, but 
it is generally applied in a relatively blind and chaotic man- 
ner. Little by little the association between the food and 
the efficacious impulse becomes ingrained, all the others fall 
out, and to the observer, who is innocent of the previous 
stages of the process, his act appears highly intelligent. As 
the creature grows older an interesting change comes over 
his performances. If he be given a problem to solve similar 
to the one we have just described, he begins in a much 
calmer and more circumspect way than does his younger 
protege. His first success may consequently be less quickly 
achieved. But in subsequent trials he becomes much more 
rapidly proficient, and one or two trials may be all that he 
requires to attain practical perfection in the act. In the 
mature rat the memory process is evidently much more active 
and reliable. 

Eeasoning processes of this kind — if one wishes so to label 



FORMS AND FUNCTIONS OF REASONING 299 

fhem — are mucli in evidence in little children. The small 
boy, striving to repair his toy, turns it this way and that, 
hammers it, and pulls it about. Sometimes success unex- 
pectedly crowns his labours, and he may then be able to bring 
about the desired result again. He has a general wish to set 
his toy aright, much as the rat has his ambition in the matter 
of the cheese. ISTeither of them has any clear recognition of 
the means appropriate to the end, but both of them, by trying 
one move after another, finally come upon the correct com- 
bination, after which memory often enables them to repeat 
the achievement. In the light of our present knowledge it 
seems probable that the great mass of seemingly intelligent 
acts which animals perform, apart from instinctive acts, are 
of this variety, and therefore involve nothing more elaborate 
than the association of certain types of situation with certain 
motor impulses. 

Do Animals Perceive Eelations? — Just how far such acts 
may at times involve the perception of coherent relations in 
the manner characteristic of adult human intelligence, it is 
essentially impossible to say. The boy of our last illustra- 
tion may, indeed, grasp at once the real relations involved 
in his problem and thenceforth his successes will be prompt 
and unfailing. The rat probably never apprehends these 
relations. One of the vigorously controverted points about 
animal intelligence comes to light here. Do animals form 
concepts of any kind? If they do not, they evidently cannot 
execute the intellectual processes peculiar to the more ab- 
struse forms of human reasoning. Do animals ever employ 
association of similars in their psychical operations? If not, 
again we must deny to them one of the most significant 
features of human thinking. Do their gestures and attitudes, 
by means of which they seem to communicate with one 
another, ever rise to the level of real language, furnishing 
a social medium for definitely recognised meanings? On 
these points competent observers are not at present 



300 PSYCHOLOGY 

altogether agreed. It seems, however, probable that animals 
rarely, if ever, achieve the distinct separation of ideas and 
perceptions which human beings attain ; and that they do not, 
therefore, understand relations or employ the concept in the 
form in which developed language permits the human to do. 

The acts of certain of the apes, however, and occasional 
performances of some of the higher mammals, indicate a 
very considerable degree of original and intelligent reaction 
to sensory stimulations. It must be remembered of course 
that the higher animals differ in mental capacity from the 
very low animals only less than they differ from men. The 
animal consciousness is probably much more exclusively and 
continuously monopolised by mere awareness of bodily con- 
ditions than the human consciousness; it is much more 
preoccupied by recurrent and uncontrolled impulse*, and 
much more rarely invaded in any definite manner by inde- 
pendent images of past experience. Meantime, we have to 
remember that the nervous system of the higher animals 
seems to afford all the necessary basis for the appearance and 
development of the simpler forms of rational consciousness, 
and the only difference in these processes, as compared with 
those of man, of which we can speak dogmatically and with 
entire confidence, is the difference in complexity and elabora- 
tion. Consciousness appears, then, everywhere as the index 
of problem-solving adaptive acts. 



CHAPTER XIII 

THE AFFECTIVE ELEMENTS OF CONSCIOUSNESS 

Feeling and Cognition. — In the foregoing chapters our 
attention has been chiefly directed to those phases of our 
consciousness by means of which we come into the possession 
of knowledge. We have examined the several stages in 
cognition from its appearance in sensation up through the 
various steps to reasoning. We have noted the increasing 
complexity and the increasing definiteness which seem to 
characterise the development of this aspect of our minds, and 
we have traced so far as we could the neural basis of the 
several processes at issue. We have seen that the elements 
of our knowledge ultimately reduce to sensory activities, for 
which the immediate preconditions are specialised sense 
organs and a central nervous system. We have seen how the 
whole significance of the different stages in the cognitive 
operation is found in the devices which they represent to 
further the efficiency of the motor responses which the organ- 
ism is constantly obliged to make to its environment. We 
have seen that memory, imagination, and reasoning are thus 
simply half-way houses between stimuli and reactions, which 
serve to permit the summoning of just those movements 
which the present situation demands, when interpreted in the 
light of the individual's past experience. 

We stated explicitly at the outset of our analysis of these 
cognitive operations that we should be obliged temporarily to 
overlook certain other factors of our consciousness. We come 
now to take up one of these neglected processes which has as 
a matter of fact contributed to produce the results in many of 
our illustrations. This process is commonly known, to 



302 PSYCHOLOGY 

psychologists as feeling. The word feeling has many other 
well-recognised meanings, and the function which it is made 
to subserve in this present connection is somewhat arbitrarily 
imposed upon it. Moreover, certain psychologists refuse to 
use it in this limited fashion. Sometimes it is made synony- 
mous with consciousness, and writers speak of "feelings of 
objects as present or absent,^' "feelings of relation" and "feel- 
ings of assent." Again it is used to designate whatever is 
vague and unanalysed in the background of consciousness. 
Thus we "feel" much which we cannot describe. Both of 
these last two usages have much in common with the or- 
dinary significance of the term in daily speech. But we shall 
employ it to designate in a general way those conscious proc- 
esses which possess definite tone, which are not neutral or 
indifferent, but which represent distinct tendencies to such 
reactions as will assure either the continuance or discon- 
tinuance of the stimulus, as the case may be. 

Cognitions and feelings are not two distinct kinds of en- 
tire mental states. They simply designate certain distin- 
guishing features of such total psychical conditions. An act 
of memory or of reasoning is cognitive in so far as it in- 
volves knowledge processes. It is feeling in so far as it is 
my knowledge experienced in a certain way, with a certain 
tone. 

A rough distinction is sometimes made between cognition 
and feeling by saying that cognition furnishes us the nouns 
and adjectives, the "whats" of our states of consciousness, 
while feeling affords the adverbial "how." What are you 
conscious of? An object, a picture. How does it affect you? 
Agreeably. The first question and answer bring out the 
cognitive factors, the second emphasise the feelings. Another 
line of demarcation which is sometimes proposed is based 
on the assertion that cognition informs us of objects and re- 
lations external to our minds, whereas feeling informs us of 
our own internal mental condition. The general character 



AFFECTIVE ELEMENTS OF CONSCIOUSNESS 303 

of the distinction will become more evident as we examine 
more carefully certain specific types of conscious experience. 
Elementary Forms of Feeling, or Affection. — If we hold 
a prism up in the sunlight and throw the spectral colours 
upon a wall, we not only experience the various sensory quali- 
ties of the several colours, we also commonly experience 
pleasure. If we now turn and look at the sun, we not only 
see the orb, we also experience discomfort. Similarly, when 
we strike three tuning forks which harmonise with one 
another we hear the qualities of the component sounds and 
we also find them agreeable. Instances of disagreeable sounds 
will readily suggest themselves. We might examine our sen- 
sations of pressure, movement, temperature, smell, and taste, 
and find the same thing true, i. e., that they are accompanied 
sometimes by pleasure and sometimes by discomfort. More- 
over, we shall find the same kind of sensation, for example, 
the sensation of sweetness, at one time felt as agreeable, at 
another time as disagreeable. The converse case is repre- 
sented by acquired tastes, such as the fondness for olives, 
where ordinarily the taste is originally unpleasant, but sub- 
sequently becomes highly agreeable. Finally, there are many 
sensations which seem to be essentially neutral and indiffer- 
ent. We cannot say with confidence that they are clearly and 
positively either pleasant or unpleasant. Many colours and 
many sounds are in this manner all but impossible to classify 
as agreeable or disagreeable. Ideas also, as well as sensa- 
tions, display escorts of agreeable or disagreeable character. 
It would, therefore, appear that pleasantness and unpleasant- 
ness are attributes of consciousness which, although they may 
accompany sensory and ideational activities, are distinguish- 
able from sensations. Apparently sensory forms of conscious- 
ness may occur without any, or at all events without any 
unmistakable, accompanying process of agreeableness and 
disagreeableness. On the other hand, it does not seem pos- 
sible to point out any case in which the consciousness of 



304 PSYCHOLOGY 

pleasantness and unpleasantness occurs independently of sen- 
sations or ideas. The agreeable-disagreeable element or phase 
of our states of consciousness is often spoken of as '^affection/' 
the total complex state in which it occurs, including sensory 
and ideational elements, being then called "feeling/^ This 
seems a convenient usage, even if somewhat arbitrary, and we 
shall therefore adopt it. 

Theories of Wundt and Royce. — Wundt and Eoyce have 
recently maintained that there are other elementary dimen- 
sions of feeling in addition to those of pleasantness and un- 
pleasantness. Both of these writers speak of feelings of 
excitement and calm, and Wundt adds a third group, i. e., 
feelings of strain and relaxation. It is contended that the 
individual members of these several groups may, theoretically 
at least, be combined in any manner whatever. Thus, pleas- 
antness may be accompanied by strain and excitement, or by 
excitement alone, or by increasing quiet alone. 

A detailed criticism of these views is not to be thought of 
at this time. The author can only indicate the general 
grounds of his disagreement with these theories, and remark 
that their enunciation has not as yet called forth very ex- 
tended assent from psychologists. That our general condi- 
tion is sometimes one of strain and sometimes one of 
relaxation naturally admits of no doubt. But our awareness 
of this condition of strain or relaxation is due primarily to 
the peculiar kinesthetic sensations which accompany such 
states and report the tension of our muscular system. This 
feature in consciousness is of a sensory nature therefore, and 
does not warrant a classification with the affective elements. 
Strain and relaxation may be at times general characteristics 
of the total attitude of consciousness towards its object. 
But they belong to the cognitive order of conscious processes. 

Again, excitement and its opposite are characteristics which 
apply beyond question to the general activity of conscious- 
ness. But after we have subtracted the effects of such 



AFFECTIVE ELEMENTS OF CONSCIOUSNESS 305 

kinfestlietic and organic sensations as may be aroused, have we 
anything left to designate as the consciousness of excitement, 
except our awareness of the general vividness and rate of flow 
in our conscious states? When we are much excited, com- 
monly our muscles are (some or all of them) tense, our res- 
piration is abnormal, etc. When there is muscular quiet With 
absence of acute kinsesthetic sensations, only our conscious- 
ness of the intensity and rapidity of change in the conscious 
processes remains. Although we acknowledge, therefore, the 
appositeness of these new categories as applied to certain 
general modifications of our consciousness, we maintain that 
we become aware of these modifications through cognitive 
channels already recognised and described. We consequently 
prefer at present to abide by the older analysis of pleasant- 
ness and unpleasantness as the two modes, of affection funda- 
mentally distinct from sensation. 

Pain Sensations and Affections. — It will be judicious before 
going further to forestall one fertile source of confusion in 
the description of afi'ection. It will be remembered that in 
our account of sensations we noted pain, which, we saw reason 
to believe, probably has a definite nervous organ like other 
sensations. The characteristic conscious quality arising from 
this organ is, in the case of the skin, the cutting-pricking 
sensation. Pains from the viscera and other deep-seated 
tissues are more massive. If pain is like other sensations, 
it should sometimes prove agreeable and sometimes disagree- 
able, and again neutral. It may possibly seem to strain 
veracity somewhat to speak of this sensation as ever being 
neutral, much less agreeable. And yet slight sensations of 
this character are at least interesting, and many persons se- 
cure a certain thrill of pleasurable gratification in gently 
touching a wound, in approaching with the tongue a sore 
or loose tooth, etc. That these sensations quickly take 
on when intense an all but unbearable character is notorious. 
This disagreeableness constitutes the affective phase of these 



3o6 PSYCHOLOGY 

sensations, just as it does with those of soimd or vision. 
When we speak of pain, we shall try to mean such states of 
consciousness as depend upon the operation of the pain 
nerves, in connection with which it must be remembered we 
most often obtain on the side of intensity our maximal experi- 
ences of the disagreeable. It is not possible at the present 
moment to indicate precisely how far pain nerves may be 
involved in the operation of the other sensory tracts, such 
as the visual, and therefore how far many of our unpleasant 
sensory experiences, such as occasionally arise from audition, 
vision, etc., may be referable to this source. Meantime, we 
shall follow the indication of the facts best established to-day, 
with a mental willingness to rehabilitate our conception when- 
ever it may become conclusively inadequate. 

Affection and Sensation. — In our study of sensation we 
discovered that intensity, duration, and extensity were funda- 
mentally significant features in its constitution. If affection 
is connected with sensory activities, it is highly probable that 
it will be found related to changes in these basal sensory 
characteristics. 

Relation of Affection to the Duration of Sensory Processes. 
— The case of duration is relatively simple and obvious. Sen- 
sory stimuli of extremely brief duration may, if we are 
attempting to attend to them, be somewhat unpleasant. 
Stimuli which are agreeable at first, such as certain tones, 
often become positively disagreeable if long continued, and 
always under such conditions become at least tedious. It 
must be remembered that in some instances, for example, 
cases of olfactory and thermal stimulation, the sense organ 
becomes either exhausted or adapted, as the case may be, and 
that for this reason the stimuli practically cease to be felt — 
cease properly to be stimuli. Such cases furnish exceptions 
to the statement above, which are exceptions in appearance 
only. Disagreeable stimuli when long continued become 
increasingly unpleasant until exhaustion sets in to relieve. 



AFFECTIVE ELEMENTS OF CONSCIOUSNESS 307 

often by unconsciousness;, the strain upon the organism. 
There is, therefore, for any particular pleasure-giving stimu- 
lus a definite duration at which its possible agreeableness is 
at a maximum. Briefer stimulations are at least less agree- 
able, and longer ones become rather rapidly neutral or even 
unpleasant. Disagreeable stimuli probably have also a maxi- 
mum unpleasantness at a definite period, but the limitations 
of these periods are much more difficult to determine with any 
approach to precision. All sensory experiences, if continued 
long enough, or repeated frequently enough, tend accordingly 
to lose their afi^ective characteristics and become relatively 
neutral. As familiar instances of this, one may cite the 
gradual subsidence of our interest and pleasure in the beau- 
ties of nature when jea.T after year we live in their presence ; 
or the gradual disappearance of our annoyance and discom- 
fort at the noise of a great city after a few days of exposure 
to it. Certain objects of a purely esthetic cnaiacter, such as 
statues, or paintings, may, however, retain their value for 
feeling throughout long periods. 

Affection and the Intensity of Sensations. — The relations 
of affection to the intensity of sensation processes is extremely 
complex; among other reasons, because the intensity of a 
sensation is not wholly dependent upon the vigour of the 
stimulus, but upon the relations momentarily existing 
between the stimulus and the organism. When one has a 
headache the sound which otherwise might hardly be noticed 
seems extremely loud. Commonly, however, sensations of 
very weak intensity are either indifferent or slightly ex- 
asperating and unpleasant, and those of high intensity are 
usually unpleasant. Owing to the obvious connection of the 
sensory attributes of duration and intensity, we shall expect 
that affection will show variations in keeping with the rela- 
tion between these two. A very brief stimulus of moderate 
intensity may affect the nervous SA^stem in a very slight 
degree. A moderate stimulus on the other hand, if long 



3o8 PSYCHOLOGY 

continued, may result in very intense neural activity, and sd 
be accompanied finally by unpleasant affective tone, rather 
than by the agreeableness which generally belongs to moderate 
stimulation. 

Affection and Extensity of Sensations. — We shall find that 
the extensity of sensation processes, when regarded alone, 
possesses no significance for the production of affective phe- 
nomena which has not already been exhibited under the head 
of intensity. A colour which seems to us beautiful, when a 
sufficient amount of it is presented to us, may become indif- 
ferent when its extent is very much diminished. This con- 
sists, practically, however, in substituting for a moderate in- 
tensity of visual stimulation one of very restricted intensity. 
On the side of extensity the variations in affective reactions 
are most important in connection with the perception of 
form, and to this feature we shall briefly refer at a later point. 

Comparison of Affection with Sensation. — It may be 
remarked before we proceed to another phase of the matter 
in hand, that affection agrees with sensation in possessing 
degrees of intensity and duration, although it never displays 
extensity. Nor do we seem to localise it as we do sensa- 
tions.* It apparently possesses only two fundamental 
qualities, agreeableness and disagreeableness, which shade 
through an imaginary zero point into one another. On both 
sides of this zero point there are ranges of conscious experi- 
ence whose affective character we cannot introspectively verify 
with confidence, and we may call this zone the region of 
neutral affective tone. But we must not suppose that this 
involves a genuine third elementary quality of affection. 

*The doctrine is sometimes maintained that our affective proc- 
esses are in reality organic sensations chiefly connected with the 
vital organs of digestion, respiration and circulation. Our inability 
to localise them is referred to their necessarily diffused character. 
They are supposed to be called out either directly by appropriate 
external stimuli, or indirectly by the reflex motor consequences of 
such stimuli^ The latter form WQuld probably be the usual 
occurrence. 



AFFECTIVE ELEMENTS OF CONSCIOUSNESS 309 

Apart from these two qualities, it seems probable that the 
only variations in affection itself are those which arise from 
differences in its intensity and duration. The more intimate 
phases of the changes dependent upon the shifting relations 
among these attributes we cannot at present enter upon. 
Wundt, however, maintains that an indefinite number of 
qualities of agreeableness and disagreeableness exist. Conclu- 
sive introspective proof bearing upon the matter is obviously 
difficult to obtain. Feelings of course vary indefinitely in 
quality, because the sensory, ideational, and motor elements 
which occur in them may be combined in innumerable ways. 
But that the qualities of the affective elements are corre- 
spondingly numerous is by no means clear. 

Affection and Ideational Processes. — We have spoken first 
of affection in dependence upon sensory activities, in part 
because it is in this connection that it first appears, and in 
part because the fundamental facts are here more obvious 
and less complex in their surroundings. But affection is of 
course a frequent companion of ideational processes, and it is, 
indeed, in this sphere that it gains its greatest value for the 
Highest types of human beings. We must, therefore, attempt 
to discover the main conditions under which it comes to light 
among ideas. We may conveniently take as the basis of our 
examination the processes which we analysed under the sev- 
eral headings of memory, imagination, and reasoning. For- 
tunately we shall find that the principles governing affection 
in these different cases are essentially identical. That our 
memories are sometimes agreeable and sometimes disagree- 
able needs only to be mentioned to be recognised as true. 
Oddly enough, as was long ago remarked, the memory of sor- 
row is often a joy to us, and the converse is equally true. It 
does not follow, therefore, that the affective colouring of an 
act of memory will be like that of the circumstances recalled. 
It may, or it may not, be similar. Moreover, either the orig- 
inal event or the recalling of it may be affectively neutral. 



316 PSYCHOLOGY 

Affection a Concomitant of the Furthering, or Impeding 
of Ideational Activities. — What then determines the affective 
accompaniment of any specific act of memory? In a general 
way we may reply, the special conditions at the moment of 
recall. In a more detailed way we may say, whatever furthers 
conscious activity at the moment in progress will be felt as 
agreeable, whatever frustrates such activities will be felt as 
disagreeable. An illustration or two may help to make this 
clearer. 

Suppose a man goes out to make a number of purchases. 
At the first shop he gives an order, and upon putting his 
hand into his pocket to get his purse and pay his bill he finds 
that the purse is gone. The purse contained a considerable 
sum of money, and a search through the outlying and gen- 
erally unused pockets of the owner fails to disclose it. The 
immediate effect of this discovery is distinctly and unmis- 
takably disagreeable. The matter in hand is evidently checked 
and broken up. Furthermore, the execution of various other 
cherished plans is instantly felt to be endangered. There- 
upon, the victim turns his attention to the possible where- 
abouts of the purse. Suddenly it occurs to him that just 
before leaving home he changed his coat, and instantly the 
fate of the purse is clear to him. It is serenely resting in the 
pocket of the coat he previously had on, which is now in his 
closet. The result of this memory process is one of vivid 
pleasure. The business in hand can now go on. It may 
involve a trip home again, but at all events the money is 
still available, and the whole experience promptly becomes one 
of agreeable relief. 

Suppose that in this same case, instead of being able to 
recall the circumstances assuring him of the safety of the 
purse, our illustrative individual had failed to find any such 
reassuring clue, and did on the other hand distinctly recall 
being roughly Jostled by a group of suspicious-looking char- 
acters on the platform of the street car while on the way from 



AFFECTR^E ELEMENTS OF CONSCIOUSNESS 31^ 

his home. In this case the memory process would augment 
the unpleasantness of the original discovery ,of the loss. The 
activity which he had planned for himself would appear more 
than ever thwarted, and the disagreeableness of the experience 
might be so intense as to impress itself on his mind for many 
days to come. 

Affection and Memory. — We shall find upon examination 
that the paradox referred to a few lines above finds its ex- 
planation in a manner altogether similar to that of this case 
just described. The remembrance of a previous success or of 
a former prosperity may be accompanied by the most dis- 
agreeable exasperation, because it jars upon the experiences of 
the present moment, from which everything but disaster may 
seem to have fled. Many persons in straitened circumstances 
often seek a pale and disappointing solace in the memory of 
better days. Pride makes in this way a vain effort to efface 
the brute reality of the present, but the effort is generally a 
melancholy failure. Happiness lies not in the contemplation 
of such a past, but in the earnest and absorbed performance 
of the task just at hand. On the other hand, the memory 
of privation and struggle, once success is achieved, may be 
pleasurable, because in this case the thought not only does 
nothing to thwart our present purposes and interests, but 
even augments our progress by a conviction of our own 
strength and capacity. 

From these brief considerations it is evident that memory- 
processes may contain very intense affective elements, and 
that apparently these will be painful, or at least unpleasant, 
when the thought which comes to mind serves to impede our 
immediate purposes and desires, especially if the impeding is 
sufficiently serious to arouse emotion; whereas they will be 
pleasurable when the suggested ideas contribute vigorously 
to the onward flow of our interests and intentions. Many 
memory processes stand midway between these extremes, and 
are neutrally toned. 



312 PSYCHOLOGY 

Is There an Affective Memory? — An interesting question 
suggests itself at this jDoint, upon which we may profitably 
dwell a moment. Do we have memories of our affective ex- 
periences in the same sense in which we have memories of 
ideas and perceptions? Before we essay an answer we must 
be sure that we understand exactly what the question means. 
When we remember events we find that at times the visual 
image, perhaps, of the surroundings comes into our minds. 
Sometimes words or motor images may flash upon us. Or, 
again, we may in reply to a question say, "Yes, I remember 
the circumstances," when in point of fact what we mean is 
that we are certain we could remember them if necessary, 
although we do not at the moment make any effort actually 
to recall them. This last form of memory for feelings we 
undoubtedly have. We can often say with confidence whether 
at a definite time we were experiencing pleasure, or dis- 
pleasure, or neither. But if we actually attempt to recall the 
event, we find then, as we just remarked, that sometimes the 
recollection itself is affectively colourless, sometimes it has 
the affective character of the original event, and sometimes an 
opposite character. In a practical way, therefore, we have a 
memory of affective experiences as genuinely as we have in 
the case of ideas. We can tell what affective tone belonged 
to vivid experiences. But our ability to reinstate the original 
affective tone with the cognitive memory of an event is ex- 
tremely defective. The reasons for this will be clearer after 
we have examined the neural basis of affection. But it may 
be said at once that we could only succeed fully in such 
reinstatement, provided we could reproduce all the organic 
conditions of the original experience. This is rarely, if ever, 
possible. 

Affection and Imagination. — The case of imagination we 
may readily suppose will prove to be much like that of mem- 
ory, for we discovered earlier in our work how closely related 
these two forms of conscious process are. This supposition 



AFFECTIVE ELEMENTS OF CONSCIOUSNESS 313 

we find to be correct, and the only important addition which 
we shall need to make to our previous account of the opera- 
tion of affection in connection with memory will become 
manifest in our examination of reasoning, which we shall 
employ in its broadest meaning to apply to all grades of pur- 
posive thinking. This curt dismissal of the subject should 
not lead us to overlook the fact that in connection with th^ 
Eesthetic use of imagination, whether in artistic construc- 
tion, or in the appreciation of beauty created by others or by 
nature, we encounter many of the most vivid and most worth- 
ful of our affective experiences. 

Affection and Reasoning. — In our analysis of reasoning 
we found that in its most rudimentary forms it seemed to 
reduce to the ability to apprehend relations and employ 
them constructively. Recognition we saw was, therefore, in a 
measure an elementary expression of the reasoning power 
akin to the crude forms of conception. It has sometimes 
been maintained by psj^chologists that all recognition, whether 
of object or relation, is as such agreeable. The objects or 
relations which we apprehend are, of course, often unpleasant. 
But whenever the content of our apprehension is itself in- 
different, the act of identifying is said to be agreeable; hence 
the theory. The agreeableness is admitted to be inconsider- 
able in such cases as would be illustrated by a person's per- 
ception of a familiar book when his eyes chance to fall upon 
it in an accidental excursion about the room. But it is never- 
theless said to be discernible even in instances of this kind, 
while in all cases of mental struggle with some baffling prob- 
lem, the detection of a relevant relation, or the appearance 
of an appropriate idea, is welcomed with a thrill of unmis- 
takable pleasure. Total states of consciousness of this kind, 
together with such antithetic cases as are mentioned a few 
lines below, are by certain psychologists designated as "in- 
tellectual feelings." Wholly strange surroundings, on the 
other hand, in which we find nothing familiar to recognise. 



314 PSYCHOLOGY 

are said lo produce in us at times uneasiness and discomfort. 
Moreover, we are all familiar with the unpleasantness of an 
abortive effort to recall a name or a number, and the fruitless 
eifort to solve a problem is often mentally most distressing. 
Evidently such a formula as that cited above contains a quota 
of truth, but it is also evident that exceptions are easy to find. 
In order to reach consistency we must look for the principle 
lying beneath these formulations. By examining the condi- 
tions under which we execute these relatings of conscious 
processes to one another, we may come upon the law govern- 
ing their affective consequences. 

It will clearly be judicious to follow the clue which we 
secured in our description of the affective aspect of memory. 
It is at least possible that this may prove to afPord us a basal 
principle. If so, we shall expect that in so far as any appre- 
hension of relations, or objects, furthers an enterprise at the 
moment dominating our consciousness, it will be agreeable; 
whereas in so far as it thwarts or checks such an interest it 
will be unpleasant. This certainly seems to hold true wher- 
ever it is possible to apply it to concrete facts. For example, 
strange things are not disagreeable, but quite the contrary, 
provided we are travelling for amusement. If we are in 
haste to reach some destination in a city, and find that we 
have accidentally left the street car at the wrong point and 
are in strange streets surrounded by totally unfamiliar houses, 
the experience may be momentarily very uncanny and dis- 
agreeable, after which it may strike us as amusing, or as 
exasperating, depending on the circumstances involved. The 
agreeableness or disagreeableness in the perception of such 
objects and such relations is, therefore, in no true sense 
primarily determined by their strangeness or their famil- 
iarity. It is determined by the manner in which the percep- 
tion affects our purposes and interests. 

On the other band, the perception of a familiar object like 
one's own home may arouse either ennui, tedium, and a sense 



AFFECTIVE ELEMENTS OF CONSCIOUSNESS 315 

of unrest, or the keenest pleasure, depending not at all upon 
the familiarity of the object, but solely upon the mental 
condition in which we chance to be, and upon the relation 
which the object bears to this condition. If we are eager 
to see our parents to communicate some piece of good news, 
we may find the sight of home most delightful. If, on the 
other hand, we desire, in the midst of a hot summer, to 
get away to the sea, the very bricks of the house cry out and 
mock us in'' our discomfort. 

On the whole it appears probable that the principle which 
obtains in these cases holds good throughout all the pur- 
posive thought processes of our mental life. In trains of 
thought where we almost lose ourselves in complete revery, 
as well as in those prolonged and strenuous mental operations 
by means of which we solve the more serious problems, prac- 
tical or theoretical, with which our pathway is beset, in these 
and in all the intermediary transitional forms, agreeable 
feeling is the accompaniment of such ideas as further our 
momentary interests; disagreeableness, on the other hand, is 
the mark of those which obstruct or thwart those interests. 



CHAPTEE XIV 

EEELING AKD THE GENERAL PRINCIPLES OF 
AFFECTIVE CONSCIOUSNESS 

Classifications of Feeling. — We are now in a position to 
recognise the fact that all forms of the cognitive activities 
are characterised at times by marked affective qualities. Our 
feelings may, therefore, be brought for classification under 
any of the several main forms of the knowledge process. In 
point of fact the usual classifications of feeling are actually 
based upon these cognitive factors, and we may profitably 
examine some of the principal divisions which are secured 
in this M^ay, although we must remember that they are very 
misleading groupings if they are understood as arising pri- 
marily from peculiarities of the affective element in such 
complex feelings. 

Sensuous and Intellectual Feelings. — Feelings are thus 
divided into sensuous and intellectual, depending upon 
whether they originate in, and chiefly terminate in, sense 
organ activities, or in central processes, like imagination. 
We have already seen that the affective part of such feelings, 
the agreeableness or disagreeableness, is probably one and the 
same, whatever their immediate occasion. It is, however, 
undoubtedly true, as our discussion in the early part of the 
previous chapter implied, that many feelings which belong to 
sensory processes are relatively confined in their significance 
to these immediate activities, whereas the intellectual feelings 
commonly run out into a bearing on larger and more remote 
portions of our mental life. The agreeableness of the taste 
of candy, for instance, or the delight in the fragrance of 



PRINCIPLES OF AFFECTIVE CONSCIOUSNESS 317 

violets, commonly exhausts itself in the moment of enjoy- 
ment; whereas the pleasure of a fine picture pervades one's 
life long after the picture itself has passed from one's view. 
This distinction must not, however, be unduly magnified if 
the basis for it be laid in the mere part played by the sense 
organ, for it must be remembered that the picture also is seen 
by means of a sense organ. Moreover, the feeling which the 
picture calls out would commonly be designated aesthetic, 
rather than intellectual. It may be added that the eye and 
the ear are sometimes rather arbitrarily held to be the only 
"aesthetic senses." More often, perhaps, the term "intellectual 
feeling" is employed to cover such cases as M^onder, surprise, 
curiosity, and interest, the apprehension of relations, the feel- 
ing of ignorance, and the like. It is intended to indicate 
primarily processes of definite affective tone in which there 
is distinct use made of intellectual capacities like discrimina- 
tion, comparison, and inference. The real distinction, which 
is hinted at in this old and somewhat ambiguous division of 
feelings, is one that can only be understood correctly when 
we observe what functions various feelings subserve in the 
life of the organism. And to this we shall shortly turn. 

Aesthetic, Ethical, Social, and Religious Feeling. — Other 
suggested divisions of feeling are the following: aesthetic, 
e. g., feelings of beauty; ethical, e. g., feelings of duty; social, 
e. g., feelings of embarrassment; and religious, e. g., feelings 
of reverence. These divisions, like the immediately preceding 
ones, are evidently based upon differences in the objects which 
call out the feeling, and result in different cognitive and 
emotional activities, rather than upon any necessary differ- 
ences among the affective elements of the feeling itself. 
Furthermore, the divisions are obviously not wholly exclusive 
of one another. Ethical feelings always have a social aspect, 
religious feelings have moral bearings, and so on. Such 
classifications are undoubtedly suggestive and valuable in 
their indication of the great avenues along which our feelings 



3i8 PSYCHOLOGY 

are approached. But we must once more carefully guard 
ourselves against the misapprehension that the affective factor 
(which ostensibly constitutes, in the theory of many psycholo- 
gists, the differentia of feeling from other forms of conscious 
process) is in any true sense the basis of the distinction from 
one another of these several types of so-called feeling. The 
specific forms of psychical experience which are peculiar to 
the various classes that have been mentioned can be exam- 
ined more profitably in connection with our study of emotions, 
and we shall, therefore, postpone their further consideration 
until that time. 

Neural Basis of the Affective Element in Feeling.— In our 
discussion of sensation we observed that the various sensory 
qualities depend upon the action of specific end-organs. We 
have now seen that the affective processes may occur in con- 
nection with any of the sensational or ideational activities. 
And the question naturally arises as to their neural basis. 
Unfortunately our positive and detailed knowledge about 
the matter is lamentably incomplete. The theory, however, 
which enjoys widest currency at the present time maintains 
that the two antithetical forms of affection represent the two 
opposing modes in which any neural activity may go on. 
They do not depend, therefore, as sensations and ideas pri- 
marily do, upon the action of specific segments of the nervous 
system; they are rather the counterparts of the manner in 
which the wliole nervous system is affected by the activity 
initiated in any segment at a particular time. This fact is 
held accountable for our difficulty in localising them.* 

From this point of view pleasure is correlated with physio- 
logically useful and wholesome activities; pain and disagree- 

* If the view (mentioned in the last chapter) that pleasantness 
and unpleasantness are but forms of organic sensations should 
prove true, it would obviously be necessary to regard their neural 
basis as similar to that of other sensory processes. Certain authors 
who entertain this theory regard pain as the elementary form of 
unpleasantness, and the tickle sensation as the elementary form of 
pleasantness. One writer ascribes itching to pain nerve activity. 



PRINCIPLES OF AFFECTIVE CONSCIOUSNESS 319 

ableness with the physiologically harmful. Thus, the theory 
would find the neural explanation for the unpleasant char- 
acter of dazzling lights and loud, shrill sounds in the manner 
in which the nervous system as a whole is affected by the re- 
action from these violent stimulations of the optic and the 
auditory tracts respectively. The nervous action is conceived 
as being of a definite form, which is qualitatively similar for 
all disagreeable or injurious stimuli, but quantitatively dif- 
ferent for stimuli of varying intensity or varying harmfulness. 
As these peripheral sensory tracts, when they are active, 
always influence more or less directly the whole nervous sys- 
tem, the affective reaction represents in reality the effect of 
the particular stimuli upon the whole organism. The agree- 
ableness of a musical chord or a sweet odour would, on the 
basis of this theor}^, be referable to a normal and efficient 
reaction of the nerves; the disagreeableness of a discord or a 
nauseous odour would, on the other hand, find its explana- 
tion neurally in an excessive or internally mal-adapted re- 
action of the organism. 

Marshall has put the matter somewhat differently, in a 
manner which certainly fits many of the facts most admi- 
rably. He connects pleasurable experience with the use of 
stored-up nervous energy in amounts less than that actually 
available, whereas unpleasant experience he connects with the 
use of nervous energy beyond the limits of the normal modes 
of functioning. We shall revert to this later, Miinsterberg 
and others connect pleasantness and unpleasantness, respect- 
ively, with movements of extensor and flexor muscles, with 
conditions of innervation in the motor cortex and with ex- 
pansion and contraction of the organism, a view which 
certainly has, despite its suggestiveness, only a very general 
and indefinite basis. 

We shall accept the validity of the general conception 
formulated in the first two paragraphs of this section, although 
we have to admit that its precise meaning is often found 



320 PSYCHOLOGY 

to be vague when we insist upon detailed facts confirmatory 
of its contention. Moreover, there are some facts which 
lend themselves to incorporation in the theory only with 
extreme difficulty. We can best get an insight into the more 
important considerations by reverting to our fundamental 
conception of the purpose and significance of consciousness 
in organic life— a conception which we have stated so often as 
to render repetition superfluous. 

General Function of Affective Consciousness. — Agreeable- 
ness and disagreeableness are the immediate indices of the 
significance for the organism of the various stimuli and re- 
sponses which enter its experience. Their function is 
to incite at once appropriate motor reactions. They lead 
normally and instantly to attitudes of advance or retreat, 
appropriation or rejection. Indeed, they have well been 
called '^mental attitudes" of acceptance and refusal. Evi- 
dently some such marks, or signs, in consciousness of the 
value of particular objects or movements are invaluable in 
the execution by mental processes of the part we have as- 
signed to them. The sign in consciousness of the organically 
advantageous might very well have been something different 
from the experience we now name pleasure, and the sign of 
harmfulness might have been other than that which we now 
recognise as pain and disagreeableness. But some such sym- 
bols are all but indispensable, if the organism is to steer 
successfully among new surroundings and in strange environ- 
ments. If it were necessary to await the loss of one's eye- 
sight before discovering that dazzling lights were injurious, 
consciousness would certainly be little more than a pernicious 
aggravation. As a matter of fact such stimulations are 
instantly felt as disagreeable, and the mind without further 
information has forthwith a guide to the kind of action 
appropriate to the occasion. Similarly as regards agreeable 
experiences. When one is tired and hungry after fatigue 
and exposure to cold, any food may seem welcome, but warm 



PRINCIPLES OF AFFECTIVE CONSCIOUSNESS 321 

and well-flavoured food tastes best and will be preferred when 
choice is possible. In such cases one needs no further experi- 
ence than is afforded by specimens of the cold and the warm 
food to recognise which is more agreeable. 

It is of course clear that the functions of the sensation 
pain and the affective process unpleasantness largely over- 
lap. But the former finds its chief import in cases of imme- 
diate physical injury or disease, whereas the latter has its 
main utility in the higher, more indirect and remote implica- 
tions of experience. This fact is well illustrated in the 
essentially invariable tendency of sensory pain to produce 
movements of aversion and retreat; whereas in certain pain- 
ful emotions such as sorrow we may dwell indefinitely upon 
the source of our feeling. 

Theory of the Priority of Affective Processes. — So funda- 
mental is this significance of the affective processes in all 
those activities immediately connected with the maintenance 
of life in the individual and the race, that several psycholo- 
gists of repute have defended the thesis that pleasure and 
displeasure are the primordial forms of mind, the other 
processes connected with the special senses being of later 
origin. It is interesting in this connection to note that one 
writer has assigned displeasure as the original form of con- 
sciousness; another, pleasure; while a third has advocated 
the hypothesis that the two appeared together in advance of 
other modes of mentality. 

If space permitted, we might examine the evidence for these 
several points of view, but as this is out of the qu'estion, we 
may remark provisionally that if our analysis of the affective 
features of consciousness has been thus far correct, we cannot 
assent to any of the theories just mentioned. It may well be 
that with the more rudimentary types of mind, in which 
general undifferentiated attitudes are the conspicuous things, 
the affective factors of consciousness dominate over the dis- 
tinctly sensory and ideational. It may be, too, that the first 



322 PSYCHOLOGY 

appearance of consciousness is in connection with the opera- 
tion of the pain nerves, though this is wholly problematical. 
But affection, as we know it (and we have no right to go 
afield from such knowledge), is apparently not a form of 
consciousness independent of sensations and ideas. Quite 
the contrary; it invariably appears clearly in connection with 
them; whereas the sensations and ideas are occasionally 
wholly, or all but wholly, destitute of affective tone. Mean- 
time, it should be reasonably certain that agreeableness and 
disagreeableness — as signs of the immediate import for the 
organism of particular moments of experience — are indis- 
pensable elements in the most successful functioning of con- 
sciousness. As Bain puts it, pleasure represents a heightening, 
and pain a lowering, of some or all of the vital processes, 
and consciousness is in this way given immediate information 
of the nature of the situation. We may accept Bain's for- 
mula in a general way, although it is far from clear that a rais- 
ing of vitality is always the immediate outcome of pleasure, 
and a lowering of it an immediate consequence of discomfort. 
Physiological Expressions of Feeling-Tone. — In connec- 
tion with this general theory of agreeableness and disagree- 
ableness as expressions respectively of the increase or decrease 
in organic vigour, certain investigators have reported constant 
and definite physiological changes accompanying the antith- 
eses of affective tone. Pleasurable experiences are thus said 
to cause dilation of the peripheral blood-vessels, decreased 
rate in the heart beat, increased depth of breathing, and 
heightened* tonus of all the voluntary muscles. Disagreeable 
experiences on the other hand are said to produce constriction 
of the peripheral blood-vessels, and in general a set of physio- 
logical phenomena exactl}'- opposite to those just mentioned 
as arising from pleasure. Students of Wundt have attempted 
to demonstrate a similar parallelism between certain groups 
of these physiological changes and the six forms of 
elementary affective process which he recognises. Several 



PRINCIPLES OF AFFECTIVE CONSCIOUSNESS 323 

competent experimentalists have failed to confirm any of these 
observations, and the phenomena are apparently verifiable 
only under certain very definite and normally infrequent 
conditions. Meantime, there can be no question that all the 
vital processes, including those of assimilation, secretion, and 
excretion, are profoundly influenced by intense affective con- 
ditions. The only question is whether they are always affected 
in the same way by a similar conscious tone, without regard 
to other circumstances. We shall have occasion to emphasise 
certain of these phenomena when we examine the emotions. 

Genesis of the Affective Elements of Consciousness. — Fol- 
lowing our method in previous cases we may ask, first, under 
what conditions affection makes its earliest appearance. So 
far as concerns the life history of any given individual, we 
may say that affection is undoubtedly coincident in its mani- 
festations with the dawn of consciousness. The cry with which 
the child draws its first breath has led to the assertion that 
life begins, as well as ends, with pain. However this may be, 
there is every reason to think that the mental life of the new 
born babe is for many days one of vague sensory consciousness, 
dominated by relatively vivid antitheses of agreeableness and 
disagreeableness. Certainly the earliest expressions of infants 
suggest nothing so strongly as pleasure and pain. 

If we inquire more closely into the conditions under which 
expressions of satisfaction and dissatisfaction arise, we find 
that they align themselves very suggestively with the doctrine 
which we have repeatedly formulated regarding the origin of 
consciousness in general. When the child is cold or hungry 
consciousness is called into play, for the organism does not 
possess, in its inherited mechanism of reflexes and automatic 
movements, any device adequate to cope with these difficulties. 
But the materials of voluntary muscular control have not as 
yet been acquired, and so the intense dammed-up nervous 
currents break over into the few pervious pathways of 
the quasi-reflex type. The crying muscles are liberally 



324 PSYCHOLOGY 

represented here, and the child's lamentation, which summons 
parental assistance, is the outcome of this motor escapement. 
If there were no damming up of the nervous currents, if the 
stimulus represented by the cold immediately resulted in 
releasing efficient motor reactions, there is no reason to sup- 
pose consciousness would be aroused. This, however, is not 
the case. The stimulations are there, and they become more 
and more insistent. The conditions for the appearance of 
conscious activity are, therefore, at hand, and if we may judge 
by external expressions it promptly comes to life. But it is 
confronted with a situation with which it cannot immediately 
deal. Now, whenever we encounter such circumstances as 
these, we shall always find that the affective tone is one of 
unpleasantness. 

In very young babes instances of definite pleasure are 
somewhat more difficult to secure. The child spends most of 
its time in relatively deep sleep, and the expressions of grati- 
fication which it manifests are, for several days at least, 
ambiguous. When such expressions do appear, they are apt 
to be in connection with the satisfaction of hunger. They 
seem to represent a kind of ratification on the part of the 
organism of the activities which have been indulged to 
relieve hunger. Indeed, if we may judge by external appear- 
ances, supported by our knowledge of the conditions in adult 
life, the whole of this process of allaying hunger, as well 
as the final stage of satiety, is agreeable. The case is ex- 
tremely interesting in the apparent contrast which it offers 
to the conditions of maturity. Prior to the securing of con- 
trol over the voluntary muscles, the function of consciousness 
is necessarily in large measure that of an approving or dis- 
approving onlooker, who has little power to make his opinions 
felt in action. 

We have noted the conditions under which painfully toned 
consciousness is produced. It would seem at first sight as 
though these must be synonymous with all those eircum- 



PRINCIPLES OF AFFECTIVE CONSCIOUSNESS 325 

stances in which obstacles were to be overcome, and therefore 
synonymous with all those cases where conscious activities 
would be required. This position is^, however, only tenable 
provided we disregard the obvious fact that the organism is in 
course of development, and that at this early stage, when 
voluntary movements are not yet under control, the total 
significance of the various factors in its life is not superficially 
obvious. Disagreeableness is undoubtedly the counterpart of 
continued inability to cope with a demand laid upon the 
organism, and the degree of unpleasantness is roughly paral- 
leled by the insistence and the poignancy of the demand. 
Agreeableness, on the other hand, is the psychical counterpart 
of effective modes of reaction to a situation. When the situa- 
tion is being adequately met, therefore, we may expect to find 
pleasure appearing, whether the successful response has come 
as a result of definite voluntary acts, as it may in adult life, 
or as a result in part of outside assistance, as it does in the 
early days of infancy. 

Why Consciousness Is So Often Neutrally Toned. — The 
question then suggests itself as to why we are not more vividly 
aware of agreeableness in the normal activities of every-day 
life. These activities involve more or less of voluntary co- 
ordinations, which for the most part go on efficiently, and 
should consequently, from the point of view we have adopted, 
produce pleasurable results in consciousness. We have in- 
timated that as a matter of fact a large part of our mental 
life is neutrally toned. The reply to this query is, therefore, 
that in so far as we are provided with healthy bodily proc- 
esses, and in so far as we are engaged in the effective solution 
of problems which confront us, our consciousness is agreeable 
in tone. But large parts of our daily undertakings are 
of a routine character verging upon habit, and in conse- 
quence require little vigorous conscious attention, and there- 
fore call out little affective reaction. Moreover, it frequently 
happens that although our mental operations are efficiently 



326 PSYCHOLOGY 

executed from the standpoint of practical results, some of 
our intra-organic processes are slightly indisposed, and inas- 
much as our consciousness reflects the totality of our organic 
condition, we find ourselves either experiencing very little 
pleasure, or else feeling positive discomfort. 

General Theory of Affective Processes. — At the risk of 
a certain amount of repetition it seems judicious to formu- 
late our general theory once again. It is evidently impos- 
sible to state the conditions under which agreeableness or 
disagreeableness is produced, by reference to any single set 
of activities with which our cognitive and volitional proc- 
esses may be engaged. Consciousness always reflects more 
than a single group of such activities, and its affective char- 
acter is always dependent upon the whole gamut of physio- 
logical operations going on at any given moment. Under 
conditions of perfect health we may often predict with much 
accuracy what the affective results of a given stimulus will 
be, because we know that ordinarily it will stimulate moder- 
ately a well-nourished nerve tract. But unusual neural con- 
ditions in any part of the organism may lead to the falsifying 
of our predictions at any time. The melody which charmed 
us to-day may irritate us to-morrow, and this not because 
the melody, or the auditory nerve, has either one changed 
in the meantime, but simply because the digestive processes 
which yesterday were orderly are to-day chaotic. We see, 
therefore, that our provisional formulations in the previous 
chapter were too simple to account for all the facts. 

The evidence thus far examined points to the belief that 
disagreeableness always appears in infancy, as well as in 
adult life, in connection either with (1) diseased conditions 
of the organism, or (2) with excessive — or insufficient — neu- 
ral stimulation, or (3) with the checking and impeding of 
conscious activity in its guidance of action. The third point 
may prove to be identical with the second. It is certainly 
identical in some instances. The function of the unpleasant 



PRINCIPLES OF AFFECTIVE CONSCIOUSNESS 327 

in consciousness is, then, evidently to furnish an immediate 
and unambiguous index of conditions which menace the wel- 
fare of the organism. Agreeableness appears in connection 
with (1) healthful organic conditions, (3) the stimulation of 
nerves inside the limits of their ability to respond with maxi- 
mal vigour, and (3) the free and efficient flow of conscious- 
ness, whatever its object. The obvious function of agree- 
ableness is consequently found in the furnishing of immediate 
exponents of organic welfare. Neither agreeableness nor 
disagreeableness are unambiguously prophetic. Their impor- 
tant function is in the present. Their meaning for the future 
requires the light of intelligence and experience. The frenzied 
delights of a Bacchanalian orgy are certainly no reliable har- 
bingers of health, nor are the pangs of the morrow necessarily 
indicative of inevitable future disaster. We may now advan- 
tageously examine a few typical instances of affective con- 
sciousness, in order to test the adequacy of our principle. 

The agreeableness and disagreeableness which arise re- 
spectively from healthful or diseased conditions of the 
organism hardly require comment. The organic feelings of a 
strong, well-fed organism are distinctly buoyant and pleasant ; 
whereas the depression of dyspepsia, the tedious discomfort 
of a severe cold, etc., are almost unmitigatedly disagreeable. 
The moderate stimulation of the sense organs by simple 
stimuli is normally agreeable, and their excessive stimulation 
normally disagreeable. The pleasure of exercise and the 
unpleasantness of extreme fatigue, the agreeableness of mod- 
erately intense simple colours and tones, and the disagree- 
ableness of those which are very intense, the agreeableness 
of rhythms to which we can make easy and efficient response, 
and the unpleasantness of all other kinds, afford instances 
which we might multiply indefinitely:* 

* Acquired tastes and the correlative loss of liking for certain 
objects constitute interesting instances of the development which 
goes on in the organism in connection with affective phenomena. 



328 PSYCHOLOGY 

The intellectual processes involved in grappling with a 
problem in whicli we are interested are normally agreeable 
BO long as we seem to be making progress. They speedily 
become exasperating if we seeni to be getting nowhere; and 
if our mindS;, by reason of fatigue, distraction, or any other 
cause, refuse to bring to our aid the ideas which we feel are 
needed, the operation may become intolerable. 

When our emotions are vigorously enlisted in such reflective 
processes the agreeableness or disagreeableness may be ex- 
tremely intense. Thus to many persons reflections upon 
immortality, upon the mercy of God, and other religious ideas 
may be profoundly uplifting and deeply gratifying so long 
as the mind meets with no obstacle in working out its concep- 
tions. On the other hand, the mental agony experienced in 
reaching the belief that immortality is unreal is t© many 
persons who come to this conviction all but unbearable. In 
aesthetic pleasures the situation is ordinarily complicated by 
the presence of both sensory and intellectual factors. A 
beautiful picture not only appeals through its richness of 
colouring and its grace of line to the immediately sensory 
activities, it also suggests to us ideas which take hold of our 
sentiments, our emotions, and our intelligence, setting up in us 
strong tendencies to motor reactions of one or another kind. 

Application of the Principles to Aesthetic Experience. 
A. Elementary Aesthetic Feelings. — There are certain ele- 
mentary forms of gesthetic experience which deserve mention. 
No theory affords a wholly satisfactory explanation of these 
feelings, but the one which we have adopted is at least 
applicable. 

It seems probable as regards the acquirements of taste tliat, in the 
case of gustatory sensations at least, certain organic changes in 
the neural activities take place, by means of which the end-organs 
adjust themselves to stimuli, which originally produced excessive 
reaction. The loss of liking for certain flavours may be due to a 
similar adaptation. The stimulus may become simply neutral, or 
it may come to elicit excessive reactions some of which may set up 
reflexes of the nai^.eea type. 



PRINCIPLES OF AFFECTIVE CONSCIOUSNESS 329 

1, Colour and Tone. — To certain persons particular tones 
and colours are agreeable which to other persons are un- 
pleasant. The same thing is true as regards the tastes and 
preferences of races. In general, primitive races and chil- 
dren are said to prefer brilliant hues. They seem also to 
enjoy tones which to cultivated adults are often shrill and 
harsh beyond endurance. Possibly the primitive eye and ear 
require a more strenuous stimulation than those of civilised 
peoples in order to effect a normal vigorous reaction. The 
same sort of individual and racial variation is found in com- 
binations of colours and of sounds. Again we may plausibly 
refer such discrepancies to variations in the neural condi- 
tions which characterise the several persons involved. 

In regard to tonal harmony we find a profuse literature 
devoted to the attempted proof of one or another explanatory 
hypothesis. It has been held that we unconsciously apprehend 
simple ratios in the vibration rates of tones and that this 
process produces conscious pleasure. In support of this view 
is the undoubted fact that most of the intervals which are 
agreeable are expressed in simple ratios (e. g.,2 : 3; 4 : 5) of 
the vibration rates of the constituent tones. But the simplest 
ratios i. e., the octaves 1 : 2, are not the most agreeable and 
the whole supposition of unconscious counting is repulsive 
to contemporary modes of thought. 

Helmholtz held that any tones which do not by the inter- 
ference of their vibrations heat with one another will be 
sensed as smooth and so agi'eeable. The analogy of flickering 
and constant lights is cited in support of this view. Rapidly 
intermittent sensations are apt to be unpleasant. This con- 
ception, however, makes harmony a purely negative fact, the 
absence of disagreeable roughness ; and again, as in the previ- 
ous case, requires supplementary hypotheses to explain why 
the smoothest intervals, like the octave, in which there is 
least of beating, should be less agreeable than others. 

Wundt maintains that the facts are explicable by direct 



330 PSYCHOLOGY 

and indirect tone relationship, i. e., the relations of the tones 
to one another, in reference to their common partial tones, 
or their relation to some third tone of which each is an over- 
tone. This theory again formulates correctly many of the 
facts. Harmonious tones undoubtedly sustain such relation- 
ships to one another. But it gives no wholly satisfactory 
account of the specific order of fusion, or agreeableness either, 
in which we arrange the harmonious intervals. 

In truth no theory has been proposed which really affords 
an explanation of all the facts. But our general hypothesis 
of normal and appropriate, as against physiologically inap- 
propriate, excessive or insufficient stimulation, is still tenable 
in describing the conditions under which tones are pleasant 
or unpleasant. It suggests the direction in which at some 
future day a satisfactory explanation ma}^ be looked for. The 
whole problem is complicated by the phenomena of melody 
with its rhythmic motor elements. Into this subject, how- 
ever, we cannot enter. 

2. Lines and Forms. — Our preferences in the matter of 
lines and forms have been extensively studied without thus 
far arriving at any broad consistent theory. In a general way 
it is true that we find curved lines more agreeable than 
straight ones. Formerly this fact was referred to the natural 
movement of the eye, when free, in curved lines. Eecent 
photographic studies of eye movements show that the eye 
does not move in curves even when following a curved line. 
It proceeds by irregular jerky movements which are essentially 
rectilinear for the most part. The two eyes do not even move 
together, one of them often lagging along behind the other, 
and sometimes making independent movements on its own 
account. Consequently it is said that the explanation of 
the beauty of curves must be found elsewhere than in these 
movements. Probably we must refer such feelings to some 
recondite suggestiveness of the curved line. Thus, the agree- 
ableness may possibly be due to the suggestion of pleasurable 



PRINCIPLES OF AFFECTIVE CONSCIOUSNESS 33 1 

movements of the hand and arm. The older aestheticians 
were Avont to speak of the curve as combining unity 
in variety; the constant change in direction giving 
variety, the constant continuation of the movement furnish- 
ing the unity. It seems possible, too, that even though 
the eye does not itself follow a curved line when it moves, 
the innervation necessary to follow such a line may be or- 
ganically easier, less fatiguing, and more agreeable than 
that required for a right line. There is a constant change 
of innervation in the one case and a relatively fixed innerva- 
tion in the other. But it must be admitted here that broken 
lines which require constantly fresh innervation are less 
agreeable than continuous ones. 

Symmetrical objects give us a sense of stability and rest 
as compared with unsymmetrical ones, which are apt to seem 
as though about to topple over. We often find ourselves ' 
making suppressed movements to overcome such lack of bal- 
ance in unsymmetrical figures. Badly proportioned figures 
produce the same restless feeling in us. Cartoons afford fre- 
quent illustrations of both experiences. The ordinary news- 
paper sketch of a dog will fill the onlooker with a desire to 
put some prop under the animal's head, so much too large 
is it for the rest of his body. 

The divisions of lines and surfaces disclose similar prefer- 
ences for one or another arrangement. The golden section 
is an instance of this type of aesthetic experience. A vertical 
line is so divided when the larger segment is to the whole 
as the smaller segment is to the larger. Triangles, parallelo- 
grams, circles divided in various ways, and circles compared 
with ellipses, have all been studied. The positive upshot of 
these studies thus far is chiefly to indicate the extreme com- 
plexity of the conditions upon which these supposedly simple 
phenomena rest. In general the unpleasant figures produce 
motor unrest, the pleasant ones motor stability. The one 
thing means organisation, the other disorganisation. We 



332 PSYCHOLOGY 

have found this same fact at every level of affective process; 
agreeableness tends to the continuation of the agreeable con- 
dition, disagreeableness to its change. If our own hypothesis 
does not contribute very helpfully to the understanding of 
these particular cases, it at least contains nothing at variance 
with any of their assured implications. 

B. Higher Aesthetic Feelings. — It will only be necessary 
to add a few lines upon the more developed gesthetic experi- 
ences, such as are involved in the appreciation of painting 
and sculpture. We shall say nothing at this point about the 
mental attitude of the artist engaged upon his work, although 
it is here that we must look in the last analysis for a correct 
impression of the genetic sides of the aesthetic consciousness. 

It seems fairly certain that those aesthetic objects which 
we adjudge agreeable comply with the second of our princi- 
ples in the moderate stimulation of neural processes which 
are more than adequate to the demands laid upon them. It 
seems also to be true that in such cases the third of our prin- 
ciples is justified. An object which we feel to be beautiful 
sets up ideational reactions which are unimpeded, focalised, 
and definite. The picture, if it be a picture, means some- 
thing fairly definite and real to us. On the other hand, 
pictures which displease or fail to interest us are either 
unpleasant as regards their colour, — in which case we prob- 
ably have either inadequate or excessive optical stimulation 
of some kind, — or they are faulty in drawing, or confused in 
meaning, so that our minds either feel a discrepancy be- 
tween what is portrayed and what is suggested, or else are 
left thwarted and baffled. 

The case of music is one in which to most of us, did we 
but acknowledge the truth, the sensory element, with its 
immediate rhythmic motor effects, is at a maximum, and the 
ideational at a minimum. But it seems difficult to find an 
instance of aesthetic experience which does not readily enough 
conform to our principles. 



PRINCIPLES OF AFFECTIVE CONSCIOUSNESS 333 

It is often said that esthetic experiences are useless. But 
this can only be maintained from a narrow and purely physio- 
logical point of view; and even there it is not strictly true. 
On the whole, then, we may accept these principles, pro- 
visionally at least, as indicative of the general facts about 
the conditions for the appearance of affective reactions, and as 
suggesting their fundamental significance. We shall now go 
on to see, in connection with oiir study of instinct, emotion, 
and volition, how these affective phases of our consciousness 
actually enter into the determination of our acts and our 
character. We can in that way make out most clearly the 
manner in which they enter into the cognitive operations 
which we have previously discussed. 



CHAPTER XV 
EEFLEX ACTION AND INSTINCT 

Motor Aspect of Conscious Processes. — We come now to 
study the group of motor powers by means of which the 
organism is enabled to guide its own movements, and so 
to control in a measure its own fate. In many of the dis- 
cussions which have gone before it has been necessary to 
assume that these muscular reactions were occurring, but 
their intimate nature we have been obliged to overlook. As 
a matter of fact all the mental operations which we have 
analysed have their ultimate significance and their final out- 
come in precisely these motor activities. In reality, there- 
fore, ail our previous study has been upon these reactions, for 
it has all had to do with their immediate psychophysical ante- 
cedents, which are functionally a part of them. Never- 
theless, it is essential that we should examine the motor 
phenomena in and of themselves, and much more exhaust- 
ively than hitherto. We shall turn, first, to the earliest 
forms of muscular activity which we find in the human 
being and then proceed to study the more highly developed 
forms which characterise a later period. 

Primitive Motor Capacities. — A survey of the motor equip- 
ment of a new-born babe discloses the fact, as we have previ- 
ously seen, that a certain number of automatic and reflex 
coordinations are already provided for at birth. The auto- 
matic activities of respiration, circulation, and digestion are 
carried on from the first. The reflexes involved in sucking, 
crying, and clasping the fingers about objects placed in them 
also take place. But aside from these and the occasional 



REFLEX ACTION AND INSTINCT 335 

random impulsive movements mentioned in chapter III, the 
child's motor capacities are potential, rather than actual. 
This slender store of motor accomplishments finds its ex- 
planation in the undeveloped condition of the nervous system 
at birth. 

Meagre as is this array of hereditary motor coordinations 
to which we have referred, it suflBces, with parental assist- 
ance, to keep the child alive until the appearance of more 
adequate adjustments. Moreover, it hears striking evidence 
to the fact, were any demonstration of it necessary, that the 
human organism is exactly like that of the lower animals, 
whose instinctive activities are often sources of so much won- 
der, in that it possesses at birth preformed pathways in the 
nervous system, by means of which sensory stimulations may 
discharge in effective movements of accommodation. The 
primordial form of motor control over the environment is, 
then, so far as concerns the human infant, to be found in 
hereditary reflexes. 

Early Motor Development. — Development goes forward at 
such a tremendous rate that it is difficult to follow with en- 
tire confidence the course of motor events during the first 
year or two of a child's life. But certain of the most 
important transitions from the conditions we have just 
described occur commonly during the first three or four 
months, and we may in passing profitably remark upon the 
general nature of this change. Afterward we shall go back 
to look for the appearance of other forms of automatic, reflex, 
and instinctive acts, which we have seen to be the primitive 
types of motor activity. We shall find evidences of their 
developments at periods covering a considerable portion of 
the time of organic growth. Furthermore, we shall find that, 
in a modified form, the instincts remain throughout life as 
fundamentally important factors in the evolution of volition 
and in the foundation of character. 

The point to which we wish to call attention for a moment 



336 PSYCHOLOGY 

is illustrated by the growth of the hand and eye control. At 
the outset the eyes are generally destitute of all orderliness of 
movement. They move independently of one another, and 
with no special reference to objects in the field of view. In 
the course of the first few weeks, however, they begin to move 
together, to converge, and gradually to show a tendency to 
follow moving objects. At this period the child loses its 
original blank stare, and from time to time fixates objects 
with a totally new expression of countenance. About the 
time that this aLComplishment is achieved the hand begins 
to show a definite development. It explores objects with 
which it is in contact. The thumb, which at the beginning 
took little or no part in clasping, is now brought into 
operation, and the things grasped are moved about in a 
fairly well coordinated manner. The next step in advance is 
characteristic of all development in motor control, and con- 
sists in the conjoining of the two previously independent co- 
ordinations of hand and eye. The eye is now able to follow 
the hand, and the hand is able to give the eye objects for 
inspection. 

We shall come back with more detail to this type of inter- 
coordination of acquired forms of control in our analysis of 
voluntary action. Meantime, it will be helpful to bear in 
mind that once a coordination, like the eye-coordination, is 
gotten under command, it is promptly incorporated as a mem- 
ber of a larger coordination, such as the eye-hand coordina- 
tion, which is in its turn destined to a similar fate in the 
course of evolving conduct. It should be noticed that certain 
coordinations emerge originally from larger ones before 
undergoing a secondary process of incorporation such as we 
have described. The control of the movements of the several 
fingers separately is gotten long after the control of the 
fingers moving as a whole. Later these separate movements 
may be combined in elaborate new groups, as in pia.no 
playing. 



REFLEX ACTION AND INSTINCT 337 

Turning back now to a fuller study of the instinctive and 
reflex types of action, we shall find the general trend of events 
to be somewhat as follows: The development of the nervous 
system goes on with astonishing rapidity during the first 
three years, so that the child has, with the exception of the 
sexual processes, practically a full store of reflexes estab- 
lished by the end of that time. Contemporaneous with this 
acquirement of the reflexes occurs the gradual unfolding of 
the life of impulse, and the upbuilding of this into the 
elaborate forms of voluntary action, v/hich promptly tend to 
become habitual. We must now analyse more carefully the 
details of this process. 

Eeflex Action. — A reflex act, as has been earlier remarked, 
is one in which a muscular movement occurs in immediate 
response to a sensory stimulation without the interposition of 
consciousness. Consciousness is often aroused by reflex 
actions, but the motor reaction is not executed in response to 
conscious motives, and in the more deeply imbedded reflexes 
consciousness is quite powerless to suppress the movement. 
Thus, in winking, we may be conscious that the eyelid has 
closed, and at times the movement may be executed volun- 
tarily. But if a cinder or other irritating substance enter 
the eye, we may be wholly unable to resist the tendency to 
shut the lids. On the other hand, when we are absorbed in 
reading, our eyelids may close dozens of times in the reflex 
way, without our becoming in any definite manner aware 
of the fact. 

Variability of Reflexes. — We have already referred many 
times to the (racially) hereditary nature of these reflexes. 
It remains to point out certain other striking facts about 
them. In the flrst place, they are subject, like all organic 
activities, to the general principles of development. They 
appear from time to time, as the nervous centres ripen, and 
are not all given complete at birth. The more rudimentary 
of them appear within the first few months. Sneezing, 



338 PSYCHOLOGY 

coughing, and hiccoughing come within the first few days, 
as a rule. Winking comes somewhat later, generally from 
the seventh to the eleventh week. Walking, which is pri- 
marily based upon reflexes, does not ordinarily begin until 
the twelfth to the eighteenth month or thereabouts, and is 
generally preceded by the creeping movements, which are 
probably partially reflex. Moreover, no one of the reflex acts 
is, at the outset, so well coordinated as it speedily becomes. 
It is clear that the nervous machinery, like other machinery, 
requires to be used somewhat before its maximum efficiency 
is available. 

Furthermore, the reflexes vary at times in response to the 
general conditions of the organism. They are not wholly 
dependent in their operation upon the presence of a stimulus. 
The child, for example, when sated, stops sucking. When 
one is nervously wrought up, a slight noise, if unexpected, 
may result in a violent movement; whereas, if one had been 
agreeably absorbed in some occupation, no movement of any 
noticeable kind would have occurred. On the other hand, 
the essentially mechanical nature of the reflex is rendered 
obvious by the impartial way in which such responses are 
often executed, regardless of the desirability of the act at 
the moment. A man wishes his presence to be unobserved 
when in a dangerous situation, and he must needs select that 
occasion to be seized with an irrepressible paroxysm of sneez- 
ing. Again, although one is behind a strong screen, one 
may flnd it impossible to avoid winking when any threat- 
ening object is seen approaching close to the eyes. It ap- 
pears, therefore, that whereas the reflexes represent hered- 
itary modifications in the connections of sensory-motor 
activities, — ^which are undoubtedly indispensable for the 
maintenance of organically useful reactions, — they may at 
times, by virtue of their mechanical nature, react in inju- 
dicious ways; and on the other hand, certain of them are 
unquestionably open to modification, either through the direct 



REFLEX ACTION AND INSTINCT 339 

control of the mind, as when one succeeds in suppressing 
a tendency to wink, or through the indirect effect of gen- 
eral organic conditions. It is evident, therefore, that reflexes 
represent various degrees of plasticity, but this does not in- 
validate the doctrine that all of them are hereditary in nature, 
and that on the whole they contribute distinctly to the 
general efficiency of those adaptive reactions which the organ- 
ism makes upon its surroundings. 

Instincts. — Instincts have an origin unquestionably simi 
lar to that of reflexes. They represent structurally pre- 
formed pathways in the nervous system, and stand function- 
ally for effective inherited coordinations made in response to 
environmental demands. It is, perhaps, impossible to draw 
any absolutely sharp line between instincts and reflexes, 
although many principles of demarcation have been proposed. 

On the whole, the most fertile and suggestive working 
distinction seems to be found in the presence or absence of 
some relatively definite, though non-conscious, end dominat- 
ing a series of acts. If the motor activity is simple, and 
is discharged in response to some objectively j)resent stimu- 
lus without conscious guidance, it will be safe to call the 
act a reflex. Moreover, some reflex acts are essentially uncon- 
scious, whereas instincts, in the higher animals at all events, 
appear always to involve consciousness. Instincts accord- 
ingly depend more largely than reflexes upon the operations 
of the higher brain qentres. If the activity involves a num- 
ber of acts, each one of which, considered singly and alone, 
is relatively useless, but all of which taken together lead up 
to some adaptive consequence, such as the building of a nest, 
the feeding of young, etc., it will be safe to call the action 
instinctive. The difference thus pointed out is founded 
theoretically upon the nature of the functions subserved by 
the two types of action, their relative immediacy, generality, 
etc. It sometimes appears to reduce in practice to a mere 
difference of degree, or complexity, and it will generally be 



340 PSYCHOLOGY 

found on further examination to involve a difference in 
the intra-organic conditions leading to the two forms 
of reaction. Instincts such as mating and nest building 
in birds depend for their emergence far more upon in- 
ternal organic changes than do any ordinary reflexes. It 
must be frankly confessed, however, that many cases are 
discoverable in which all distinctions seem arbitrary and 
fictitious. Too much stress should not be laid, therefore, 
xipon the matter of ultimate differences. It is rather upon 
thtt identity of service to the organism that the emphasis 
should fall, with the added recognition that such service 
may be rendered in thousands of ways, whose interrelations 
may well baffle our clumsy and ill-informed attempts at 
classification. 

lEodifications of Instincts. — Instincts resemble reflexes in 
their susceptibility to modifications through experience, and 
also in their appearance in connection with definite stages in 
the development of the nervous system. Experience operates 
in two opposite directions. (1) If the first expression of an 
instinct chances to be disastrous, and results in pain or 
fright, the instinct may be either temporarily, or permanently, 
inhibited. Thus, chicks, which possess the instinctive tend- 
ency to peck at food, are said to suppress this tendency when 
bad-tasting food is given them. (2) On the other hand, if 
the instinctive action is successful and produces agreeable 
organic results, it tends at once to become ingrained as a 
habit. In all creatures which possess even rudimentary forms 
of conscious memory, instincts must, therefore, speedily lose 
their original and wholly blind character. The tendencies to 
instinctive reactions must, in such creatures, very early set 
up organic reminiscences of the previous consequences of their 
indulgence; and these reminiscent traces must lead either 
to inhibitory movements or to responses of the habit type, 
in which the outcome must be in some vague way fore- 
cast. 



REFLEX ACTION AND INSTINCT 341 

Suppression of Instincts. — Instincts not only appear at 
definite points in the growth of the nervous system, but cer- 
tain of them may also atrophy and disappear, provided that 
at the crucial joeriod the appropriate conditions are not at 
hand to call them out and fix them as habits. Illustrations 
of the periodic nature of development in instincts are familiar 
to everyone. The puppy cannot swim, the older dog can, 
and he does it instinctively. The bird displays no tendency 
to nest-building until a certain maturity is attained, and 
instances of a similar kind might be multiplied indefinitely. 
The abolition of an instinct by failure to secure expression 
ai- the correct time is shown in the case of chickens, which 
tend at first to follow any moving object. Ordinarily nature 
provides, of course, that this object shall be the maternal hen. 
If the opportunity to translate this instinct into a habit is 
not afforded, the instinct dies within a few days, and there- 
after commonly cannot be reestablished. 

Instinct, Experience, and Reason. — The relatively flexible 
and plastic nature of instincts which is suggested by the 
foregoing observations finds additional confirmation in the 
innumerable instances in which intelligence, or unexpected 
and unusual environment, come in to exercise modifications. 
In the earlier views of instinct we always find it contrasted 
with reason, as though the two were radically distinct. The 
keener insight of our own time shows us that although reason 
represents the individual's contribution to his own fate in 
terms of his own experience, while instinct represents the 
contribution of racial experience, the actual operation of the 
two factors often displays most intimate inter-relations. 
This is peculiarly true of all the higher animals, and espe- 
cially man. Indeed, the great difficulty in studying instinct 
in human beings is due to the fact that intelligence imme- 
diately comes in to transform the native reactions in ac- 
cordance with the dictates of the individual's personal ex- 
perience. 



342 PSYCHOLOGY 

Even in the lower animals, however, individual experience 
exercises a guiding influence over the particular forms of 
instinctive expression, although in many of these cases we 
must speak very conservatively as to the manner and measure 
in which consciousness participates. Whatever the explana- 
tion of the modus operandi, there can be no doubt that birds 
and insects such as bees and wasps and ants often modify 
their instinctive methods of nest-building in a most remark- 
able manner when the exigencies of local conditions require 
such modification. The instinctive tendency is general and 
not specific. Many different things may elicit its expression. 
It may thus be easily fitted into variations in environment. 
On the other hand, instincts are often carried out in a 
bungling fashion, and in the face of circumstances clearly 
fatal to their successful issue. The well-known disposition 
of certain dogs and squirrels to attempt, with elaborate 
efforts at digging, the burying of their bones or nuts when 
confined upon hard board floors illustrates the occasional 
futility of irrepressible instincts. The classical observations 
of the Peckhams upon bees and wasps afford striking in- 
stances of instincts misdirected at some crucial moment. 
They report, for instance, that wasps frequently prepare a 
nest carefully for the reception of the food store and then 
seal it up empty. 

The obvious implication of such observations is that we 
have to do in the phenomena of instinct, as these appear in 
the several genera and species of the organic kingdom, with 
an overwhelming variety of reactions, all of which evidently 
emanate from the same type of ancestral source; but with 
indefinite and unpredictable susceptibility to modifications 
from environing conditions, and with an equally uncertain 
submission to conscious guidance. In so highly evolved a 
nervous system, as that possessed by the human being we may 
naturally anticipate a very considerable number of these 
ancestral tendencies, and we must also expect to find them 



REFLEX ACTION AND INSTINCT 343 

very promptly submerged in motor activities under the con- 
trol of the mind. These expectations seem to be fully 
realised by the actual facts. 

Origin of Instincts. — Although everyone is agreed that 
instincts are racial habits transmitted by heredity to the 
particular individual, there has been wide difference of 
opinion regarding the precise manner in which they origi- 
nally became established. The questions here at issue are 
clearly in large part biological in nature, and this is, there- 
fore, evidently the reason why we find that the authoritative 
names connected with the conspicuous theories are chiefly 
those of great naturalists. Two fundamentally opposing 
views have until recently held the field. One is commonly 
known as the theory of lapsed intelligence. The American 
biologist. Cope, was an eminent defender of this view, which 
regards instincts as organically fixed habits which were 
originally intelligent adaptive acts partaking of the general 
character of volition. Wundt has been a distinguished ad- 
herent of this view among psychologists. The second theory 
is known as the reflex theory, and its basal contention is that 
instincts are simply accumulated reflex adjustments, expli- 
cable in their survival by the general principle of natural 
selection, which tends to weed out accumulations, however 
acquired, which are not preservative in their effect. Spencer 
and Weismjann are representative adherents of two sub-forms 
of this theory. 

The first theory has been criticised as making too great 
demands on our credulity concerning the amount of intelli- 
gence displayed by primitive forms of organisms, and also 
on the score of defective evidence for the transmission of 
acquired characteristics. The second theory has been held 
vulnerable in its inability to explain how groups of reflex 
movements could have been slowly built up, when only the 
final step in the process rendered the chain really useful. A 
recent modification of these views, for which J. M. Baldwin 



344 PSYCHOLOGY 

stands sponsor among psychologists, is known as the theory 
of organic selection. 

Theory of Organic Selection.* — The crucial point in this 
theory is the supposition that even tentative and imperfect 
acts of accommodation, with or without conscious direction, 
may serve to preserve the life of a species during the critical 
period when an instinct in its entirety is forming, and thus 
give it opportunity to become permanently imbedded in the 
organism as both a structural and functional attribute. This 
position recognises the fact that a complex instinct may re- 
quire a considerable time and many generations to become 
firmly ingrained ; and that during the period when this fixation 
is in progress the organism may need assistance in coping with 
its enemies. Such assistance may emanate from conscious proc- 
esses or from chance physiological accommodatory actions. 
In either case the life of the species would be conserved during 
the period when the instinct was in process of formation. An 
instinct may thus indirectly involve conscious activities in 
its establishment, although it does not arise from the direct 
crystallisation into habits of previously conscious acts. 
Whether this view succeeds in weathering the storms of criti- 
cism or not, it is at least a highly ingenious and suggestive 
modification of the two previously extant views. It seems 
to contain what was most significant in both, while avoiding 
the more obvious pitfalls belonging to each. It gives scope 
for the play of intelligence in assisting in the formation of 
useful reactions, without going to the indefensible extreme of 
assuming that all valuable coordinations have such intelli- 
gent origin. On the other hand, it offers a practicable 
hypothesis as to the manner in which movements of essentially 

*The term "organic selection" is used in antithesis to the older 
term "natural selection." Natural selection is generally interpreted 
as afFecting the preservation or destruction of entire organisms. 
Organic selection applies to the specific accommodatory acts, which 
an organism may execute in the eflfort to meet the exigencies of 
its environment. By selecting one type of action rather than an- 
other, it may succeed in surviving and leaving off-spring. 



REFLEX ACTION AND INSTINCT 345 

reflex character may have become chained together in instinc- 
tive reactions. 

Function of Instinct. — Despite the differences which have 
characterised the opinions of the most acute biologists as 
to the origin of instincts, there is no divergence of opinion 
as to their function. They represent, by common consent, 
those forms of reaction upon the environment which the race 
has found most effective in maintaining itself against the 
rigours of climate and geographical habitat, and against the 
assaults of various forms of animal life. So far, therefore, as 
we find traces of true instincts in human beings, we may 
know that we are confronted with tendencies which represent 
racial experiences, with reactions which express the pressure 
of untold ages of man, or his pre-human ancestors, engaged 
in the struggle for existence. It should, in the light of such 
considerations, afford us no astonishment to find that some 
reactions have been preserved, which are either useless at 
present or even somewhat positively disadvantageous. More- 
over, remembering the complex conditions of our organic 
structure, we may well expect that certain of these instinctive 
reactions may possess their chief value and significance in 
the intra-organic physiological changes which they bring 
about, rather than in movements primarily affecting objects 
in the environment. Both these anticipations we shall find 
fulfiUed. 



CHAPTEE XVI 
THE IMPOKTANT HUMAN" INSTINCTS 

The Distinction Between Native and Acquired Forms of 
Reaction. — We come now to examine the general scope and 
character of human instincts, and we are at once confronted 
with the concrete difficulties previously mentioned, i. e., the 
difficulty of distinguishing the genuinely instinctive and 
hereditary reactions from the merely habitual, or from the 
acquired. Fortunately, there are certain great basal instinc- 
tive activities which we find appearing in children long 
before they have had (sufficient experience to enable them to 
execute such reactions on the basis of volition; and, further- 
more, there is a considerable group of reactions which all of 
us manifest, that appeal to us when our attention is called to 
the matter as being native and untutored; as all but wholly 
devoid of purposeful conscious guidance. With these as a 
clue we may at least make a begining in our catalogue, and 
from their analysis secure hints as to other similar instinctive 
traits. 

In all properly constituted babies anger and fear are in 
evidence, with their appropriate motor expressions, long be- 
fore experience has afforded opportunity to observe and copy 
these reactions in others. They are, therefore, unquestion- 
ably native. It may, however, be said, that these are emo- 
tional processes, and not instincts. Half of this contention 
is true and half is false. Anger and fear are instincts and they 
are also emotions. Each involves a series of somewhat elabo- 
rate organic activities, and these are all of the unpremeditated 
hereditary type. They possess, however, in addition to these 
motor characteristics, perfectly definite conscious concomi- 
tants, and to the conscious part of the whole process we 



THE IMPORTANT HUMAN INSTINCTS 347 

commonly give the name emotion. We shall return to a 
detailed consideration of emotions in the next chapter. 
Meantime, we find that in anger the brows are wrinkled, 
the face ordinarily crimson, the veins gorged and prominent, 
the nostrils dilated, the lips drawn back and the teeth set, 
the hands clenched, the body tense, and the voice harsh. 
In extreme fear we meet with pallor and trembling, spasm 
of the heart, diarrhoea, the appearance of goose-flesh, cold 
sweat, bristling of the hair, dryness of the mouth, choking, 
paralysis of the voice, or hoarse screaming, together with 
tendencies to flight, coupled with a feeling of weakness. 
These reactions are called out precisely as are the instinctive 
reactions in animals, i. e., by the presence of appropriate 
stimuli. So far as consciousness is involved in them, the 
striking thing is the headlong fashion in which we find our- 
selves plunged into a vortex of intense impulsive feeling com- 
pelling us to acts the consequences of which, in their first 
expressions, at least, are wholly unforseen. 

TJtility of Instinctive Reactions. — The utility of such ex- 
pressions may well arouse one's curiosity. In the case of 
anger some of the movements evidently have a '^'^use" value, 
provided actual combat is necessary or desirable. But the 
trembling of fear, whatever may be said of the tendencies 
to flight, is a questionable organic asset for an individual 
wishing to react most effectively upon menacing surround- 
ings. It must be admitted frankly that some of the motor 
responses displayed in emotional and instinctive discharges 
are unintelligible at present from the standpoint of utility. 
The attempt has often been made to refer the preserva- 
tion of such acts as have no obvious value for the con- 
quest of the environment, and even, perhaps, a deleterious 
influence upon this task, to their physiological usefulness in 
restoring disturbed organic conditions. Thus, the gorging of 
the blood vessels in anger, the secretion of tears in grief, 
laughter in response to wit and humour, have sometimes been 



348 PSYCHOLOGY 

held to assist in relieving the abnormal circulatory conditions 
in the brain set up by the several emotional experiences. It 
may well be that these reactions represent merely the inevitable 
drainage into available channels of excessive motor excita- 
tion. Such a supposition would account for their variability 
in different individuals, and in the same individual at dif- 
ferent ti-mes. For example, some persons show anger by 
growing red in the face, others grow pale. Of all such 
explanations one can only say that they serve, at least 
temporarily, decently to cloak our ignorance. Nevertheless, 
there seems to be in the meantime no hesitation in any im- 
portant quarter in accepting the general hypothesis already 
mentioned, that these racial habits which we designate emo- 
tions and instincts represent types of reaction which were 
useful at some time in the past histor}'' of the race, however 
problematical their usefulness may be at present. 

Genetic Inter-relations of Instincts.— The precise order 
in which the great mass of instincts make their debut is a 
diflicult problem, and one for which it is, perhaps, not 
altogether profitable to undertake a solution. It seems prob- 
able that rudimentary forms of most of the instincts are 
encountered at a very early date, whereas the occasion for 
the expression of the matured reaction may be long post- 
poned. Eibot has made it clear that in general those in- 
stinctive activities, such as fear and anger, which have to do 
most immediately with the maintenance of the physiologi- 
cal organism, and to which he gives the name of "egotistical 
emotions," are the first to appear in infancy and the last to 
disappear in old age or before the ravages of mental disease. 
The more altruistic emotions and instincts are for the most 
part found in a developed condition much later. Thus, sym- 
pathy, in unequivocal form, anyhow, occurs only with some 
considerable mental development. Indeed, it has sometimes 
been questioned whether sympathy is truly instinctive at 
all; whether it does not rather reflect the conclusions of 



THE IMPORTANT HUMAN INSTINCTS 349 

intelligent consideration. But on the whole there seems no 
good reason to cavil at the evidences of its native character, 
especially as we can discern its seeming presence in certain 
animals. 

list of Human Instincts.— Waiving, then, the question 
of the order of appearance, we iind the generally recognised 
, instincts in man to be as follows : Fear, anger, shyness, 
curiosity, affection, sexual love, jealousy and envy, rivalry, 
sociability, sympathy, modesty (?), play, imitation, construc- 
tiveness, secretiveness, and acquisitiveness. 

Many authorities would add hunting to this list, and it 
must be admitted that in many races, and in many individ- 
uals of all races, it gives strong indications of a funda- 
mentally instinctive nature. It is, however, so honeycombed 
with the effects of experience, and so irregular in its ap- 
pearance, that it may fairly be given a position among the 
disintegrating instincts. Walking and talking are also in- 
cluded b) many writers. Whether they shall be counted in 
or not is, as we have already observed, simply a question of 
classification. We may call them either chained reflexes or 
instincts, according to the criterion which we adopt for our 
divisions. James has added cleanliness to his list, and there 
are some facts which point to the correctness of this view, 
both in its application to men and to animals. But it is at 
best a very imperfect and erratic trait, as any mother of 
normal children can testify, and we may omit it in consid- 
eration of the necessary brevity of our discussion. We shall 
similarly forego any description of sympathy and modesty. 
Kor shall we attempt to catalogue the vast array of rudi- 
mentary instincts which lead psychologists to assert that man 
has more instincts than any of the animals. A baby will do 
more things in an essentially instinctive way with an object 
put into his hand than will any animal. He will turn it 
about, put it in his mouth, drop it, pick it up again, stroke 
it, hammer with it, and so on ad libitum. 



350 PSYCHOLOGY 

A perusal of our list brings at once to notice the union of 
instinct and emotion. A part of the terms apply primarily 
to acts, and so connect themselves with the common implica- 
tion of the term instinct; whereas the other part suggests 
much more immediately the conscious feelings characteristic 
of the several forms of emotional experience. Imitation, 
play, and constructiveness are examples of the first kind of 
term; fear, anger, and jealousy illustrate the second. A few 
comments upon each of the instincts mentioned may serve to 
emphasise helpfully the typical conditions under which they 
appear, and the wholly naive, untutored nature of the motor 
reactions which they manifest. 

Fear. — We have already sufficiently described the motor 
phenomena in the case of fear, and it surely requires no ad- 
ditional argument to convince one of their native and 
unsophisticated character. It only remains to notice that in 
little children, despite some irregularity in different indi- 
viduals, the normal provocatives are represented by strange 
objects, frequently by fur, by strange places, and especially by 
strange people, by being left alone, by darkness, and even 
occasionally by black objects; and by noises, particularly if 
very loud and unfamiliar. In later life, in addition to the 
fear which arises from the presence of actually dangerous 
situations, such as the menace of a great conflagration, many 
persons are seized with dizziness and a more or less acute 
terror upon finding themselves on a very high place, even 
though the possibility of falling over is efficiently precluded 
by railings, etc. Others are frightened by anything which 
verges upon the supernatural. Even the cold-blooded mate- 
rialist of polite fiction feels his unsentimental blood curdle 
just a bit at the rehearsal of a thrilling ghost story, and only 
the possessor of practiced nerves can be alone on a dark night 
in a cemetery, or a thick wood, without some "creepiness" of 
the hair and skin. 

All of us are likely to find that in the midst of a violent 



THE IMPORTANT HUMAN INSTINCTS 351 

tempest, whether on land or sea, the howling of the wind is a 
distinct source of mental anxiety quite disproportionate to 
our sober, intellectual apprehension of its real danger. 
Thunder and lightning are for many persons sources of irre- 
pressible terror. All these things take hold of our racial 
instincts, and however vigorously our individual experience 
attempts through its cortical machinery to put a veto on 
such nonsense, our lower brain centres refuse to abandon 
their world-old habits, and accordingly we find that our 
hearts are beating wildly, our breathing coming in gulps, 
our limbs trembling, the while we look on, mortified at the 
weakness we cannot control. 

Anger. — Anger has several different forms and the most 
varied provocatives. We are irritated by the tireless piano 
next door, exasperated by the teasing child, hurt and vexed 
by the social snub, angry at the open insult, and perhaps 
moved to enduring hatred by the obnoxious and unscrupulous 
enemy. There is a common emotional vein running through 
all these conditions however much the particular momentary 
expression may vary. Possibly resentment is the best name 
wherewith to label this common factor. The instinctive 
nature of the motor reactions requires no further demonstra- 
tion than is furnished by the sight of any little child enjoying 
a tantrum. The explicitly pugnacious element is, under 
civilised surroundings, inconspicuous after childhood is 
passed, despite the tremendous virility it displays if the curb 
be once slackened. The evolution of the race has been notori- 
ously sanguinary, and we should feel no surprise, however 
much of disgust and regret we may entertain, that under the 
excitement of actual combat the old brute should display the 
cloven hoof. The development of so-called civilised codes of 
war affords interesting instances of the effort rational man 
makes to clothe with decency the shame of his own brutish- 
ness. According to the prevailing code, women and children 
may not be slaughtered, but it is occasionally lawful to despoil 



352 PSYCHOLOGY 

them of their flocks and herds, to lay waste their grain, and 
even to burn the roofs above their heads. 

Shyness and Sociability. — The antagonistic instincts to 
which we have given the names shyness and sociability, not 
only appear as genuine hereditary impulses in little children, 
but they also fight, in the case of many persons, a lifelong 
battle for supremacy over the individual's habits. Sociability 
is simply an expression of the essentially gregarious nature of 
man. Some men seem destined for membership in a very 
small herd, — two or three at most, — others find their most 
natural surroundings amid large numbers. But the man or 
child who in one form or another does not natively crave 
companionship, sympathy, admiration, and confidence from 
others is essentially insane. Many turn from life and such 
companions as they chance to have attracted with horror and 
disgust, seeking in God or in some ideal of their own imag- 
ination a companionship which shall be fit and satisfying. 
But what is such a turning other than the most pathetic 
appeal for true comradeship, for a real society comformable 
with the deepest needs of the soul? ISTo, sociability, under 
whatever limitations, is an expression of the very essence of 
humanity, and every little child evinces it by shunning 
solitude. 

What often passes with children for a love of solitude is 
really more truly referable to the operation of the contrary 
instinct of shyness. In the very nature of the case the two 
impulses must always have been in unstable equilibrium so 
long as the drama of human life has been upon the boards. 
A certain measure of suspicion toward the action and pur- 
poses of others must always have been a condition of avoiding 
harm and imposition. On the other hand, the race is funda- 
mentally gregarious, and all its greatest achievements have 
come about through cooperative undertakings in which the 
solidarity of the social structure has been a sine qua non. 
The tension between these two instincts, which we often find 



THE IMPORTANT HUMAN INSTINCTS 353 

existing in ourselves, is no mere idiosyncrasy of our own 
2^11 rely personal organisation. It is rather a replica in ns of 
a conflict which has been a part of the experience of every 
sane human being that ever lived. 

Sociability finds everywhere its natural expression in smil- 
ing and in bodily attitudes, or gestures, which are, perhaps, 
best described as obviously non-pugnacious. The secondary 
gestures, apart from smiling and laughing, are through imita- 
tion early overlaid with the conventional ceremonials of dif- 
ferent races and peoples. But in babies we find general ex- 
tensor movements of reaching and stretching out of the arms, 
with eyes wide open and gaze fixed, head erect, and often 
nodding. In shyness the precise reverse is encountered. The 
eyes are averted, the hands and arms held close to the body, 
the whole attitude being one of retreat. In older children 
and adults blushing and stammering, or even speechlessness, 
are common concomitants. Strangers and persons feared or 
venerated are the normal stimulants to shyness. In both 
kinds of reaction the movements are observed before there 
can be any question of conscious imitation. They are accord- 
ingly of undoubtedly instinctive nature. The great difficulty 
many persons experience in inhibiting the expressions of shy- 
ness also points to a similar conclusion. 

A special form of the generic tendency to sociability is 
found in childish affection for parent or nurse, and in the 
tender feelings in general which we cherish toward those of 
whom we are fond. It finds its overt manifestation in facial 
expression, in modulation of voice, and in caressing gestures 
in general. The instinct is speedily veiled by experiential 
influences, but it gives every internal evidence of resting upon 
a native impulse, and its motor indices apparently require no 
artificial training. In childhood its common stimulus is 
found in persons upon whom we are dependent for our daily 
care. It may even extend in a somewhat imperious fashion 
to toys and other possessions intimately associated with childish 



354 PSYCHOLOGY 

cosmology. In mature life its stimulus is extremely com- 
plex, and baffles brevity of description. In general, it extends 
to all persons and possessions that we cherish, as in some sort 
a part of ourselves. 

Curiosity and Secretiveness. — Curiosity and secretiveness 
are in a measure antithetic impulses, like shyness and 
sociability; they vary immensely in different individuals, but 
bear, whenever met with, unmistakable traces of an instinctive 
origin. Animals afford us abundant instances of curiosity, 
and many methods of hunting are designed to take advantage 
of this tendency. Taken broadly, curiosity is simply another 
name for interest. In its simplest and most immediate form 
it is represented in the vertiginous fascination which novelty 
of any kind at times possesses for us. The child must pry 
about until he has fathomed the depths of your preoccupa- 
tion. If asked why he wishes to know what you are about, 
he could give you no rational answer, even if he would. 
He obeys his impulse, and to ask for any deeper reason is itself 
unreasonable. The staid business man who allows himself 
to be lured across the street of a summer evening by the flar- 
ing torch of the street fakir has no reputable account to offer 
of his procedure. Time out of mind he has yielded to the 
same fascinating bait, always to find the same old bogus 
gold watches, the same improbable jewelry, the same nauseous 
medicines, passing out into the capacious maw of the great 
gullible public. Curiosity is the racial instinct to which our 
sedate citizen is yielding, and that is all there is to the matter. 
In this simple form the motor expression is found in the 
alert and wide-open eyes, the parted lips, the attentive ear, 
the general attitude of readiness to react to any lead. In its 
more intellectual phases we shall consider it under the head 
of interest in a later chapter. 

Secretiveness will by many readers be thought unwar- 
rantedly introduced as an instinct. It is not usually of suf- 
ficient consequence to justify any extended defence of its 



THE IMPORTANT HUMAN INSTINCTS 355 

instinctive nature. But as a special form of shyness, at least, 
it deserves a word. It seems to be a development of those 
instincts among animals which lead them to render them- 
selves as inconspicuous as possible. Certain insects and birds 
frequent haunts in which the surroundings, whether vegeta- 
tion or earth, are of a colour similar to their own. In a 
corresponding fashion many persons feel an ineradicable im- 
pulse to conceal their plans, their actions, and their character 
behind a screen of non-committal silence and reserve. The 
impulse has no necessary connection with the preservation of 
a consciously defined personal dignity. It extends quite as 
forcefully to the suppression of all publicity touching the 
trivial as it does to the concealment of the momentous. 
Taciturnity is its commonest expression — if this formulation 
be not itself a paradox. Its irrational impulsive character is 
the mark which stamps it instinctive. Many of us are at 
times secretive of fixed and consciously recognised design. 
But the sort of thing of which we are here speaking is tem- 
peramental and may be felt in the absence of all explicit 
justification. 

Acquisitiveness. — The instinct which we have called ac- 
quisitiveness appears chameleon-wise in many colours and 
under various conditions. Perhaps its ancestral origin is to 
be found in the storing habits of animals. As a primitive 
expression of the recognition of personal property it is one 
of the earliest and most tempestuous of innate reactions. It 
commonly gets a bad name at this time, and is often undis- 
criminatingly entitled selfishness. Certainly the distinction 
between meum and tuum is one for which every child be- 
trays a remarkable precocit}'', although the precocity is com- 
monly much more evident in the emphasising of meum than 
in the recognition of tuum. But however perverted the 
moral perspective, the thing is there in the form of an impulse 
to get hold of, and keep, and guard, something — anything. 
The particular objects which call it out are altogether 



3S6 PSYCHOLOGY 

incidental to the momentary surroundings and to the age of 
the special individual. With hoys in the "marble age" 
"glassies" and "alleys" are the recipients of the passion. A 
little later it may be ribbons bestowed by, or purloined from, 
the young ladies of the hour ; presently it is stocks and bonds 
and real estate. 'Now these things are many of them sought 
for ulterior ends consciously apprehended. But through the 
whole drama runs the instinctive thread, the tendency to acqui- 
sition, binding the whole together into a vital tale of human 
impulse striving after gratification. So far as it can be said 
to possess relatively fixed expressions, they are to be found 
in the elaboration of the infantile reaching and grasping, 
with the facial expression of alert, tense interest, and the 
intra-organic disturbances which generally accompany such 
excitement. The impulse takes its origin, however, from so 
many forms of stimulations that a perfectly fixed and inflex- 
ible motor indication of it is hardly to be expected. Klepto- 
mania is perhaps a perverted and diseased form of the instinct. 

Eivalry. — Closely connected with acquisitiveness is the 
instinct of rivalry, or emulation. It is intimately allied to 
play and imitation in its origin, and it easily runs to excess 
in anger, hate, jealousy, and envy. Its stimulus is apparently 
found in the successful achievements of anj^one coming within 
our own social circle, by virtue of which we are likely to be 
relegated to inferior positions. If one happens to be a bank 
clerk, one feels no rivalry instigated by the promotion of the 
janitor, but the advancement of one's fellow clerk is quite 
another matter. 

The small boy views with unmixed admiration the skill of 
the profesional ball-player, but the performances of his rival 
for a place on the school nine stir his blood in quite a different 
way. So far as concerns the voluntary muscles, the expres- 
sion of this impulse has about it hardly anything fixed save 
the vigour and energy which go into their use when stung by 
the prick of rivalry. 



THE IMPORTANT HUMAN INSTINCTS 357 

As we intimated a few lines above, emulation is readily 
transformed into anger, and this fact points to a kinship 
which has undoubtedly in the history of racial evolution been 
most significant. Among the lower animals fighting is a 
constant and fundamental factor in life history. Under the 
ameliorating conditions of civilisation mankind has managed 
in large measure either to eliminate this element from human 
life, or so to change its complexion as to shade its more 
brutal features, and to substitute for bloodshed and carnage 
the starvation and bankruptcy which emanates from unsuc- 
cessful competition. In so far, therefore, as rivalry represents 
the survival in modern life of the old fighting propensities, 
we must look in it for the vestigial evidences of tumult and 
excitement, of emotional tension, which have always char- 
acterised the struggle for existence. Needless to say, we find 
them in abundance, and hence it is that emulation co easily 
leads to the more unworthy instinctive expressions; hence it 
is that so much of moral dignity attaches to him who can feel 
and cherish rivalry, without sacrificing his highest ethical 
ideals of integrity and respect for others. 

Jealousy and Envy. — Viewed merely as natural impulses. 
Jealousy and envy are sufficiently alike to render a separate 
mention of each unnecessary. Envy is generally applied to 
our covetousness of the prosperity or possessions of others. 
This covetousness is often accompanied, as in jealousy, by 
more or less malignity. Jealousy we commonly apply to a 
similar feeling toward persons who are our supposed rivals, 
whether actually successful or simply feared. Both animals 
and little children manifest jealousy, and no one can question 
that the depth of the feeling, together with these facts, points 
to its springing from a racially hereditary source. Its char- 
acteristic expressions are similar to those of anger and hatred, 
but commonly occur in milder form. 

Sexual Instincts. — Among the most imperious of our im- 
pulses are undoubtedly those connected with sex. The 



358 PSYCHOLOGY 

approach to sexual maturity is usually attended by very deep- 
seated organic changes^ and these are reflected in a marked 
development of the whole emotional nature. It is in this 
fact that we find an explanation of the definite bent which 
is often imparted to character at this time^ leading in certain 
instances to a life-long devotion to ideals which are lofty and 
habits which are pure, and in other instances to perversion 
and debasement of the entire moral nature. This is the great 
formative period, the storm and stress period, of the moral 
life. The delineation of the basal facts in the birth and 
development of love between the sexes has been accomplished 
so perfectly in the great poems and tales of passion as to 
render futile and superfluous any such brief outline as would 
be possible here. 

Parental Love. — Parental love is a far stronger impulse in 
the mother than in the father, as a rule. It is unquestionably 
instinctive in the mother, is given most lavishly during the 
infancy and childhood of the offspring, but commonly remains 
to the end one of the majestic forces in the history of human- 
ity. Its expressions are partly those of caressing tenderness 
and partly those of protection and prescient regard for the 
needs of the child. 

Play. — We come now to speak of the three instincts 
remaining upon our list, i. e., play, imitation, and con- 
structiveness. They are by no means synonymous, but their 
connection is so intimate, and their significance for the de- 
velopment of the child so similar and so important, that we 
shall consider them together, and at some length. Moreover, 
they illustrate peculiarly well certain characteristics of in- 
stinct to which attention was called in the previous chapter. 
They are general and not specific, both as regards the stimuli 
which elicit them, and as regards the motor reactions which 
they manifest. We should therefore be more accurate, per- 
haps, were we to speak of instincts of imitation (using the 
plural rather than the singular), instincts of play and so on. 



THE IMPORTANT HUMAN INSTINCTS 359 

The same qualification might well be applied in connection with 
several of the instincts which we have already discussed. But 
despite this wide variation in the circumstances of the reac- 
tions, we must not under-rate their genuinely native character. 
Instinctive acts represent a transition from the most fixed and 
mechanical of refiexes on the one hand, to the fluid conditions 
of voluntary acts on the other. Certain instincts approach one 
of these extremes, others approach the opposite extreme. 

In little children the impulse to play is practically identical 
with the impulse to use the voluntary muscles. Indeed, the 
definition of play which enjoys widest currency at the present 
moment identifies it with the free, pleasurable, and spon- 
taneous activity of the voluntary muscles. For all periods 
after those of early childhood, say subsequent to seven years 
of age, there is an increasing disposition to contrast play with 
work, and to ascribe to the former a certain lack of serious- 
ness. But with little children this lack of seriousness exists 
only for the sophisticated onlooker. To the child himself his 
playing is the "real thing." It has all the seriousness which 
the child is able to reflect in his activities at the time. 

The two most important theories regarding play are, per- 
haps, those advocated respectively by Spencer and Groos. 
The former regards play as representing a discharge of sur- 
plus organic energy. The latter considers it as an impul- 
sive function serving to call into being those activities which 
presently are to be required in the strenuous conflicts of life. 
Play has its biological significance, therefore, in the discipline 
which it affords. So far from finding it necessary to choose 
one or the other of these theories, reflection suggests that they 
are entirely reconcilable and distinctly supplementary to one 
another. It may be that the impulse to play has its racial 
significance in the opportunity which it afl'ords for the exer- 
cise of those forms of coordinated movement which adult life 
demands. It may, indeed, owe its preservation in hereditary 
form to just this circumstance. And it may, nevertheless, be 



36o PSYCHOLOGY 

also true that in its expression at any specific time the im^ 
pulse really represents the tapping of reservoirs of surplus 
energy. Both of these explanations seem altogether probable, 
and they serve to connect the obvious present vitality and 
utility of the play impulse with adequate genetic and his- 
torical causes. 

Imitation.— As the play impulse actually is observed in its 
development, it early takes on certain imitative characteristics, 
and at a slightly later date, perhaps, gives evidence of deserv- 
ing the name constructive. As in the case of play, we must 
distinguish several stages or phases in the imitative reactions. 
There is without much question a purely instinctive form, of 
imitation in which, without any necessary conscious purpose 
to imitate, acts of others are repeated as accurately as possible. 
This is conspicuously true of the earlier speech activities, in 
which the sensations of the vocal sounds made by others seem 
to discharge immediately, in an almost reflex manner, in 
articulatory reactions more or less closely resembling the 
stimulus. At a later period, however, there is a definitely 
conscious purpose to repeat sounds, and this kind of conscious 
imitation characterises a large part of the educational process 
in young children. Indeed, the only propriety in mentioning 
it in this chapter, so explicitly volitional is it, arises, first, 
from its possession of a compelling fascination for the minds 
of all normal children, and, second, from its striking simi- 
larity to the genuinely instinctive form mentioned above. 
The name "suggestive imitation" has been given to such acts 
as appear imitative to an observer but are not necessarily 
felt to be so by the imitator. A recrudescence of the more 
purely instinctive type is exhibited in the loss of individual 
initiative and inhibition in the case of mob action and the 
movement of crowds, where one falls in, almost unaware, 
with the purposes and impulses of the mass. "Plastic imi- 
tation" has been suggested as a distinguishing name for this 
class of cases. 



THE IMPORTANT HUMAN INSTINCTS 361 

Constructiveness. — In childhood constructiveness is hardly 
more than a convenient term to specify one of the aspects of 
play. Children delight in the making of things out of their 
toys, and this may properly be called constructiveness, even 
in those cases where a carping parental economy might de- 
scribe the impulse as one of destructiveness. Pulling a 
feather-duster to pieces to make a nursery Indian may not 
commend itself highly to the presiding guardian as an evi- 
dence of constructive tendencies, but psychologically it is 
quite as truly entitled to rank here as the activity by means 
of which the precocious child converts the paternal cigar- 
box into the inlaid maternal glove-box. Its shortcomings 
as a constructive performance are ethical and economic, not 
psychological. In later adult life constructiveness, so far as 
it is separable from volitional activities exercised under the 
stress of fear, pride, or other similar emotions, becomes inti- 
mately connected with the impulses of artisanship and crafts- 
manship, in which a native intellectual interest finds a con- 
genial and appropriate channel of expression by means of 
inborn deftness in specific forms of manual manipulation. 
This later type undoubtedly has in it much that is genuinely 
impulsive, but it is so overlaid with the effects of experience 
that it will not be profitable for us to dwell longer upon it. 

Relation of Play, Imitation, and Constructiveness. — It 
surely requires no complicated demonstration to prove that 
these three last-mentioned impulses — play, imitation, and 
constructiveness — interlace with one another in almost inex- 
tricable ways. Much of the strictly impulsive element in con- 
structiveness, if not, indeed, all of it, is play, pure and simple. 
Many of the plays of children, commonly so recognised, are 
of a distinctly constructive character. The child building a 
house from his blocks is, from his own point of view, much 
more truly described as engaged in construction than as en- 
gaged in play. The conscious "make-believe" of many plays, 
and the simulation of fictitious situations, is seldom obvious 



362 PSYCHOLOGY 

in the earlier plays of little children. Imitation is often sim- 
ply a designation for a specific mode of reaction which the 
special play calls forth, and many games have their point in 
feats of imitation. Constructive impulses are more often 
than not dependent for their expression in the first instance 
upon patterns which determine the mould in which the child 
casts his activities. Little children running after larger chil- 
dren;, they know not why, the boy trying to use a hammer as 
he has seen his father do, the girl playing at setting the table 
as she has seen her mother do — these and a hundred other 
instances illustrative of these points will immediately come 
to mind. We shall revert to the development of these native 
modes of reaction in our account of the growth of volitional 
control. It must suffice here to have pointed out the native 
organic nature of these expressions. The occasions for their 
appearance are evidently found wherever a situation affords 
opportunity for a vigorous organism to react spontaneously 
and agreeably with movements indicative of control and 
power. 



CHAPTEE XVII 
NATUEE OP IMPULSE 

Throughout the whole of the preceding chapter, so far as 
we have dealt with facts of consciousness, we have had con- 
stantly before our notice impulses of one or another kind. 
Impulse is, then, from the psychologist's standpoint unques- 
tionably the cardinal fact about instincts. The residuum is 
a matter of physiology and biology. It is a mere matter of 
neural mechanisms. But so far as we have impulse we have 
a definite psychical factor, and we must examine it somewhat 
more intimately. 

Impulse and Movement. — In ordinary usage impulse is set 
over against deliberation. To act impulsively is to act on the 
spur of the moment and without reflection. We shall dis- 
cover as we proceed that voluntary action consists in bring- 
ing order into our impulses and in this sense the antithesis 
between impulse and deliberate volition is well grounded. 
But there are other aspects of the matter not suggested 
clearly by this account. 

Etymologically considered, an impulse is anything which 
"pushes along.'' We have repeatedly observed the tendency 
of all forms of consciousness to pass over into movements, 
and there can be no doubt that in this sense at least all states 
of consciousness are naturally impulsive in character. Left 
to itself, any mental condition would convert itself at once 
into some kind of muscular movement. This is peculiarly 
true of emotions and of direct sensory impressions, which, 
as we saw in the chapters on sensation and attention, tend, 



364 PSYCHOLOGY 

so far as we give them undivided attention^ to set up imme- 
diate motor responses. It is, however, equally true of images 
and other centrally aroused psychoses, so far as we become 
absorbingly attentive to them. If we have reference, then, 
primarily to the consequences which follow upon mental 
states, there seems to be no obvious exception to the rule 
that they all tend toward muscular movements, and are, 
therefore, all intrinsically impulsive. 

This fact must not, however, be interpreted as meaning 
that all states of mind reveal these motor consequences in 
equal measure, nor that the impulsive element in them is 
insusceptible of further analysis. Quite the contrary. The 
disposition to make certain movements is much more marked 
in cases of anger than in cases of reluctant choice after de- 
liberation. Moreover, the whole psychosis in anger may be 
much more intense than in the other case, and we may, there- 
fore, be much more vividly aware of these tendencies. It is 
evident, consequently, that, viewing the matter introspectively, 
we have to recognise the existence of very different degrees 
of impulsiveness in our immediate feelings of disposition to 
movement. The feeling may be very distinct and acute, as 
it often is in emotion, or, as in many ideational processes, 
it may be so faint and insignificant as to have hardly any 
existence save the hypothetical one to which our whole obser- 
vation of conscious operations has committed us. 

Development of Hereditary Impulse. — Furthermore, we 
shall at once remark another important distinction if we note 
the changes accruing from the development of the individual's 
experience. The first time that one of the strong racial im- 
pulses is felt, the individual's consciousness contains little or 
no anticipation of what is about to occur. He is simply aware 
of an unusual thrill, a passing unrest, which comes to him dis- 
closed in part by muscular movements — ^half mechanical in 
their nature. But the inner meaning of his experience is at 
the moment, perhaps, wholly problematic to him. He is a 



NATURE OF IMPULSE 365 

stranger to himself. How true to the facts this statement is 
many persons will readily admit by recalling some of the 
strange, acute mental disturbances of their own adolescent 
period. The child screaming with fright for the first time is 
likely to harbour no little shame over the event afterward 
because of its startling strangeness to him. The youth smit- 
ten with his first infatuation is a constant source of wonder 
to himself. He has become suddenly aware of a multitude 
of feelings which before were inexistent for him. But all 
these impulses, once they have been experienced, are thereby 
forever changed. They may retain, as many of them do, a 
prodigious intensity and vitality, but thenceforth they have 
lost a part of their mystery. We know at least so much of 
what they mean as to anticipate the acts to which they tend 
to lead. From this time forth we become increasingly aware 
of the objects which are calling them into being and of the 
consequences to which they lead. The impulses tend, there- 
fore, to become more and more sophisticated. They become 
illuminated with a knowledge of their meaning, and the im- 
mediacy of our feeling and our unrestrained disposition to 
reaction are lost forever after the original, unsullied reaction. 
The conscious portion of the instinctive life is modified by 
growth and experience quite as truly as the purely motor and 
physiological parts of it.* 

Consciousness of Impulse. — Impulse as a mental affair 
may be defined broadly as the conscio'>isness of tendency to 
movement. The disposition to movement is instigated by 
some stimulus and of this, too, we are aware in the impulse, 
although we may know little or nothing about the object, as 
occurs in primary emotional experiences. On the other hand 
we may be aware in the impulse not only of the tendency 
to move and of the object calling out the tendency, but also 

* Certain authorities prefer to apply the term "instinct feeling" 
instead of impulse to these racial impulsions. This enables them to 
confine the term impulse to instances of sensory or ideational motor 
excitement other than those of racial origin. 



366 PSYCHOLOGY 

of the result to be anticipated from our reaction. Impulse 
thus necessarily covers many conditions which differ from one 
another somewhat in complexity. 

Even though we admit impulse as a feature characterising 
all forms of mental activity, we have also to acknowledge very 
different degrees in its intensity and complexity, and very 
different conditions surrounding its expression. "We may ob- 
serve a further similar peculiarity belonging to those reac- 
tions which we most commonly regard as instinctive. We 
may call the play impulse definitely instinctive, and so give 
it rank among those expressions of our motor dispositions of 
which we are most keenly and unambiguously conscious. But 
it requires no elaborate demonstration to prove that we are 
most distinctly cognisant of the impulsive nature of this 
reaction when for any reason its expression is hampered or . 
checked. Moreover, a little observation would bring the con- 
viction that this is a general principle applicable all along the 
line. "We can hardly be said to be conscious of the impulse, 
as an impulse, if the conditions are all ripe for its immediate 
translation into movement. Under such conditions we are 
absorbed in the object of our doing, in the act, in the con- 
sequences, with their thousand ramifications. But the im- 
pulse to act, as such, we are hardly aware of in any genuine 
sense, unless something impedes the impulsive movement. 
Then we promptly become aware of tense muscles, of thwarted 
execution. Then we are really conscious of the impulse, and 
we are made conscious of it by means of the nascent and 
incipient movements to which it has actually given rise.* 

As a matter of fact, few of our impulsive tendencies ever 
find the opportunity to run wholly free and unconstrained. 
But so far as they do, we find we have lost consciousness of 
the impulse, as such. We encounter no exception at this 

* If the reality of "innervation feelings" could be demonstrated 
{i. e., consciousness of out-going motor neural energy), our impulses 
would doubtless prove to be largely made up of such elements. 



NATURE OF IMPULSE 367 

juncture, then, to the facts which we have in the earlier part of 
the book so often emphasised, i. e., the fact that consciousness 
appears at those points where there is friction of one kind or 
another in the purely physiological mechanisms of adjustment. 

Classification of Impulses. — Impulses have been classified 
in various ways. Titchener, for instance, groups them as 
impulses toward, and impulses away from, objects; also as 
individual, or subjective, and social, or objective. The feed- 
ing impulses illustrate subjective impulses toward, the de- 
fensive impulses exemplify the subjective impulses away 
from, objects. He recognises three levels of objective im- 
pulse: (1) sexual impulses, attraction and repulsion; (2) 
parental impulses, affection and exclusion; and (3) tribal 
imlpulses, friendliness and hostility. Evidently these classi- 
fications over-lap in the most intricate manner and can be 
valued only for their general suggestiveness. 

Impulse as Hereditary and as Individual. — It remains to 
comment upon an extremely important distinction among the - 
various forms of impulse already indicated in the previous 
chapter. Certain of these seem to be practically invariable in 
their appearance in all human beings, and they show them- 
selves in the shape of relatively fixed forms of movement. 
These are the instinctive reactions in the strictest sense of the 
phrase. In this category belong such activities as fear and 
anger. Certain other impulses are essentially universal but 
still somewhat less uniform in their appearance than the pre- 
ceding class. These impulses have a far more variable form 
of expression. Here belong the reactions we call play, imi- 
tation in certain forms, parental love, etc. Both these classes 
of impulses give every evidence of a racial origin. But the 
first type is evidently the more stable and more deeply im- 
pressed upon the organism. Over against these two classes 
of impulsive acts — of which the first are more justly desig- 
nated instincts, although both groups express the pressure 
of racial experience — are to be set the residual conscious 



c{68 PSYCHOLOGY 

activities, sensations, ideas, judgments, feelings, which are all 
impulsive, as we have seen, in the sense in which this indi- 
cates their relation to movement. These latter forms of 
consciousness are, however, representative of the processes 
by means of which, on the foundation of his racial patri- 
mony, the individual builds up his own adaptive responses 
to his environment. The antitheses, then, are on both the 
physiological and the psychological sides to be found between 
impulse as hereditary, and founded on inherited neural struc- 
ture, and impulse as individual and reflective of innate per- 
sonal disposition. The first factor represents the element ol 
conservatism and racial habit, the second the element of indi- 
vidual variation and progress. 



CHAPTEE XVIII 
THE NATUEE OF EMOTION 

Distinction Between Emotion and Instinct. — Our previous 
study has already brought us into contact with emotion, once 
in our analysis of feeling, and again in our examination of 
instinct. But it still remains for us to discover more exactly 
the peculiarities of this form of mental experience, and 
especially to point out its functional significance in the econ- 
omy of conscious life. It will not be necessary to discuss 
its neural basis. The relevant facts have all been mentioned. 
The important part played in it by the autonomic system 
should, however, be emphasised and will become obvious 
as we proceed. 

Although, as they appear in human beings, instinct and 
emotion are both psychophysical processes, the term "in- 
stinct" refers primarily to physiological phenomena, and the 
term "emotion" to psychological. This is brought out in 
James' statement that "an emotion is a tendency to feel, and 
an instinct is a tendency to act characteristically when in 
the presence of a certain object in the environment." As 
psychologists we are accordingly under obligation to describe 
the salient features of these hereditary feelings which accom- 
pany the instinctive activities. In the last chapter we found 
that impulse is present in all instincts, and we exhibited some 
of the modifications which the impulsive feelings undergo. 
We must now scrutinise certain other equally important 
features of the emotional psychosis. 



370 PSYCHOLOGY 

When we feel ourselves in the grasp of any of the more 
powerful emotions^ such as fear or anger or grief, we imme- 
diately refer the experience in toto to the object which is, as 
we say, its cause. We say we are afraid of the lightning, we 
are angry with our defamer, we are grief-stricken at the death 
of a beloved friend. In this way we come naturally enough to 
identify the emotion with our consciousness of its immediate 
provocative, and this fact has often served to becloud the real 
psychological constitution of these experiences. Thanks to 
the acumen of two contemporary psychologists, James and 
Lange, we can now describe more precisely than formerly cer- 
tain of the psychical conditions indigenuous to such states of 
consciousness. These are closely dependent upon certain 
physiological processes. 

Physiological Accompaniments of Emotion. — Let us take 
the case of a person who is extremely timid about thunder: 
storms. Such a person may be thrown into a paroxysm ol 
fear by the sight of an ominuous cloud approaching. More- 
over, after the storm has burst, every flash of lightning and 
every clap of thunder may serve as a fresh source for the 
waves of terror which surge over the shrinking soul. Now 
in such a case the usual description of the mental experience 
would connect the fear immediately with the perception of the 
cloud and with the several perceptions of lightning and thun- 
der. The mere perception itself would be accredited with the 
instant arousal, without further intermediation, of the emo- 
tion of fear. Following the arousal of iear, and serving as 
expressions of it, would be enumerated the several motor re- 
actions which the individual might manifest, e. g., trembling, 
paling, palpitation of the heart, etc. Now, it need not be, 
questioned that such perceptions as these suggested are per- 
ceptions of terrifying objects recognised forthwith as such. 
But the authors to whom we have referred have pointed out, 
with a wealth of illustrative detail, that the motor activities 
just mentioned occur in an essentially reflex way immediately 



THE NATURE OF EMOTION 371 

upon the perception of the emotional stimulus. These mus- 
cular reactions necessarily initiate at once afferent neural cur- 
rents, which set up sensory and affective disturbances that 
are promptly reported in consciousness. The Lange-James 
view insists, therefore, that all accurate introspective observa- 
tion of such experiences reveals the emotion of fear as a con- 
scious state in which these motor reactions are represented as 
essential and integral parts. We may apprehend an object in 
a cold-blooded and self-controlled way as terrifying and dan- 
gerous. This is a common experience among policemen, fire- 
men, and soldiers of a certain temperament. But we never 
feel afraid unless we have already made certain of the motor 
reactions which characterise fear. If the heart remains un- 
disturbed in its pulsations, if the distribution of the blood 
in the various parts of the body is not markedly changed, 
if the breathing is not affected, if we do not tremble, it 
matters not how clearly we may appreciate the danger of 
the situation, nor how dangerous the situation may be, the 
total complex feeling, the emotion, of fear is not ours. These 
mjovements, then, which common description accredits with 
the expression of the emotion, are not merely expressions, 
they are rather indispensable factors contributing to produce 
the psychical condition which we all recognise, when we 
experience it, as the genuine emotion.* 

* Certain physiologists and alienists have called in question the 
' correctness of this view. Experiments on animals, so operated 
upon as to prevent the cortex from receiving organic stimuli from 
the visceral region, are held to demonstrate that emotions are felt 
even under such conditions, which it is said should be impossible, 
if the James-Lange theory were strictly true. Disease sometimes 
produces in human beings similar conditions of cortical isolation 
from great groups of the organic senses and still emotion appears 
little impaired. Space does not permit a full discussion. In the 
author's opinion the critics have failed to take account of most im- 
portant considerations, such as the possible eflFects of memory pro- 
cesses, not to mention other points equally significant. No evidence 
as yet advanced appeals to him as crucial in its discrediting of the 
essential points of the theory, for which a vast array of con- 
firmatory evidence is at hand. 



372 PSYCHOLOGY 

The psychological constitution of the emotion of fear is 
typical of all the strong emotions which lend themselves 
readily to introspective observation. In each one the organic 
reverberation which is produced by the emotional stimulus 
enters into consciousness to give it its characteristic emotional 
colouring and to mark it off from other modes of mental activ- 
ity. In anger we ordinarily find the breathing disturbed, the 
circulation irregular, and many of the voluntary muscles, e. g., 
those of the hands and face, tense and rigid. These muscular 
movements are inevitably reported by distinct modifications 
in the tone of consciousness. In grief an opposite type of 
muscular condition is met with, i. e., depression of motor 
tonicity throughout most of the system, but with an equally 
inevitable reaction upon the conscious mood. 

Emotions are, therefore, extremely complex processes, so 
far, at least, as regards the organic activities which condition 
them. In emotions we are not only conscious of the emotional 
object, as in ordinary perceptual and ideational acts, we are 
also overwhelmed by a mass of sensational and affective ele- 
ments brought about by the intra-organic activities of our 
own musculature. The prominence of the affective factors to 
which we have referred in our account of feeling is in large 
part referable to the hyper-normal, or subnormal, activity 
set up in the muscles of the respiratory, circulatory, and 
digestive systems. It will be remembered that under most 
conditions we are entirely unconscious of these processes. 
Only under rather unusual circumstances, involving some 
vivid form of stimulation, do they intrude themselves. But 
such circumstances, we have already observed, are precisely 
those to which affective tone almost inevitably attaches, and 
we have forthwith an obvious reason for the conspicuously 
affective character of the emotions. 

Reply to a Criticism. — It may be said that however true 
our account of the organic activities involved in emotional 
psychoses, it is, nevertheless, a false description of the facts 



THE NATURE OF EMOTION 373 

to say that we are conscious in any explicit way of these 
functions of our bodily selves. Our consciousness, it is 
alleged, is absorbed in the object of the emotion; we are hyp- 
notised by the impending calamity, transfixed in contempla- 
tion of our gaucherie, swept away by the sally of wit, etc. 
The bodily movements are things of which we have little or 
no distinct mental report. The emotion, consequently, how- 
ever much entangled with motor activities it may prove to be, 
cannot be spoken of as consisting in a consciousness of these 
movements. The point at issue in this contention rests 
upon a misapprehension of the principle defended in this 
chapter. It is not maintained that the emotion of fear is 
made up of a consciousness of some terrifying object, say a 
serpent, plus the consciousness of a palpitating heart, plus 
the consciousness of shaking limbs. The assertion is, that 
our consciousness of the ser-pent is modified by all the sensory- 
motor activities going on in the body at the moment, just as 
is the case in less noticeable degree with every perception. It 
is further asserted that the motor activities which do occur 
at such times are characteristic and relatively fixed, and in 
consequence lead to relatively -fixed psycJiical surroundings 
for any perceptual acts revealing terrifying objects. To 
state it in neural terms, we may say that the cerebral cortex 
is a kind of resonance board for the whole organism, and that 
emotional stimuli produce definite and fairly constant motor 
reactions, which are echoed by the cortex. Our attention may, 
then, be more or less absorbed in the object of any given 
emotion, but the total mental state is conditioned quite as 
truly by the sensory consequences of the hereditary motor dis- 
turbances, as it is by the special sensory activity reporting the 
object. These motor disturbances constitute in James' terms 
a characteristic "fringe" for the emotional stimulus. 

Memory Traces in Emotion. — If emotions involve these 
organic sensory factors, we must have modifications in memory 
occasioned by them, and upon experiencing a new emotional 



374 PSYCHOLOGY 

stimulus there must be a disposition to call up these old 
organic reminiscences. It may be then that emotional ob- 
jects occasionally elicit relatively little of direct motor reac- 
tion, while nevertheless evoking mental states characterised 
by these memory traces of previous organic excitement. Such 
a supposition would account reasonably for the composition 
of many of our milder emotions, the so-called higher emo- 
tions, in which it is often difficult to detect definite organic 
disturbances. 

Classification of Emotions. — Many classifications of emo- 
tion have been proposed, but we shall only mention one, 
as the others do very little to aid in the appreciation of the 
inner nature of emotional conditions. Indeed, the one we 
cite has not as yet proved itself especially fertile. Emotions 
may be divided into primary, which do not involve any pre- 
ceding emotional experiences upon which they depend; and 
secondary, or derived, which do thus implicate some such 
antecedent experience. Anger and fear illustrate the first 
group; certain forms of remorse and pity illustrate the 
second. We can hardly pity one in grief, unless we have 
ourselves suffered grief. Gratitude is generally of a simi- 
larly sophisticated type. The distinction underlying this 
classification is obviously genetic, and so far as it indi- 
cates real differences in the part played in our emotions by 
experience, it is helpful. 

The so-called pseudo-emotions may be mentioned here. 
The name is used to designate such mental states as are 
induced by the creations of art, especially the dramatic and 
literary arts. If one becomes engrossed in a fine novel, one 
feels tremendously the misfortunes which overtake the hero 
and heroine, and still the emotions which one experiences 
differ distinctly from the first-hand emotions called forth 
by a like fate in one's own life. The grief which we feel 
for the novelist's characters may be sincere, but it is or- 
dinarily much paler than a real grief of our own; and in 



THE NATURE OF EMOTION 375 

many phlegmatic persons it would be difficult to discern any 
external manifestations of the excitement, such as you might 
detect when the emotion was stirred by real events. Speak- 
ing broadly these pseudo-emotions are merely weakened edi- 
tions of the originals from which they obviously spring, 
but they have many peculiarities, such as bringing us pleasure 
where the original would have been unmitigatedly painful. 

Significance of Emotion. — We must next inquire into the 
special significance of the emotional life, and discover, if pos- 
sible, the reasons for its peculiarities. In emotion we are 
apparently confronted with a case in which now and again 
consciousness takes on an unusual intensity. Can we find in 
our analysis of its intrinsic characteristics, or in our observa- 
tion of the circumstances under which it becomes manifest, 
any explanation of this phenomenon? We may at least make 
the attempt. 

Illustrations from (1) Fear. — If we examine a series of 
emotional situations, such as we find in grief, anger, fear, 
embarrassment, and pity, we shall discover that in one par- 
ticular they all agree. In each and every case conscious 
activity is thrown backward and inward upon itself instead of 
going forward in the form of well-adjusted processes of con- 
trol. This condition may last only a moment, or it may run 
on indefinitely. In one form or another, however, it is the 
distinguishing mark of all emotional conditions. For exam- 
ple, I am sitting at my desk writing, oblivious of the storm 
without. Suddenly a blinding flash and a deafening noise, 
followed by the sound of falling walls, breaks in upon me. 
Unquestionably, I am thoroughly frightened. For a moment 
or two I am all but paralysed mentally. My attitude is 
one of cowering contemplation. In a vague, terror-stricken 
way I wonder what is coming next. I may have started 
to my feet, but that is almost a reflex act, and certainly 
evinces no special intelligence, for I am perhaps quite as well 
off, and quite as useful, seated as standing. In a moment 



o 

376 PSYCHOLOGY 

the paroxysm has passed off and I start forth to see what 
damage has been done. So long, however, as the fear was in 
the ascendency, my mental activity was of the most futile, 
ineflBcient character. At great conflagrations, where persons 
become panic-stricken under the continued influence of ter- 
ror, a similar thing is observed. Either they sit cowering 
in a half-dazed condition, or they rush madly and aimlessly 
about. Eational conduct has fled, and consciousness has 
become almost extinct, or else a mere riot of impulses. 

(2) Embarrassment. — In profound embarrassment every- 
one who is capable of the emotion will recognise the applica- 
bility of our description. We find ourselves speechless, not 
simply because the mouth is dry and the tongue paralysed, but 
also because our thoughts have fled. We have been suddenly 
reduced to the mental condition of a vegetable, growing 
rooted to the spot where we stand, a vital mass destitute of 
informing intelligence. 

(3) Grief and Anger. — The prostrating effect of deep grief 
is nowhere more flagrant and more distressing than in the 
total inability of the mind to get away from the source of its 
sorrow and take up the direction of necessary activities. For 
a person deeply afflicted, freedom of will and action is a sheer 
delusion. The mind refuses to operate, save in reiterated 
contemplation of its loss. In anger, on the other hand, it 
may be at first supposed that mental and motor activity are 
alike enhanced, rather than otherwise. But this impression 
proves erroneous upon a closer inspection of the facts. The 
immediate and instantaneous effect of anger is precisely like 
that of the other emotions we have just mentioned, i. e., the 
intrusion of respiratory, circulatory, and digestive disturb- 
ances with the temporary checking of directive conscious 
processes. The checking is often only momentary, and is 
then frequently followed by a torrential motor discharge of 
a more or less efficient kind into the voluntary muscles, 
which readily serves to obscure the preceding and invariable 



THE NATURE OF EMOTION 377- 

inhibition. In children one often sees this latent period during 
which the storm is getting up its destructive forces. Pres- 
ently the apoplectic silence is broken by an outburst, which 
harks back in its violence to periods long antecedent to the 
dawn of civilisation. 

Emotion a Phenomenon of Interrupted Conscions Action. — 
This break in the adaptive movements under the supervision 
of consciousness, which we should observe in all emotions if 
we took time to analyse all of them, is reflected in the organic 
reactions which we have already described. The stimulations 
to which consciousness is responding from moment to moment 
must drain off through motor channels of some kind. So long 
as they do not possess emotional vividness, they call forth 
either simple reflex responses, or habitual coordinations under 
conscious control. The moment the stimulus takes on an 
emotional hue, however, as we have just seen, the guidance 
of consciousness is more or less abridged; the motor channels 
of acquired coordinated voluntary movements are consequently 
somewhat obstructed, and the only alternative is an overflow 
of the nervous currents into the involuntary pathways and 
the instinctive hereditary pathways of the voluntary system. 
On the neural side, therefore, the profuse motor reaction in 
emotion represents the discharge of dammed-up impulses 
which cannot find egress through the sluice-ways of ordinary 
voluntary movements. 

ITeaningf of the Interruption and Motor Overflow. — Taken 
in their entirety, what do these two great bodies of fact 
point to, regarding the function of emotion, i. e., (1) the 
temporary suspension of voluntary control in the forward 
movement of consciousness, and (2) the overflow of motor 
impulses into channels leading partly to the involuntary 
muscles and partly through hereditary influences to the volun- 
tary system? Stated differently: What makes a situation 
emotional and why does it lead to these results which we have 
designated ? 




378 PSYCHOLOGY 

If it be true that consciousness tends to appear where the 
reflex and hereditary responses of the organism are inade- 
quate to cope with the demands of the environment, we may 
say with equal truth that emotions appear whenever there is 
conoid among the motor impulses called forth by any special 
situation. Both cases demand fresh adjustments of con- 
sciousness for the securing of efficient action. The significance 
of emotion as a fact of consciousness would seem, therefore, 
to he resident in this monitory function, represented hy its 
compelling announcement of needed adjustments, its report 
of unstable equilibrium. At all events this is evidently the 
part it plays, be its teleology what it may, and obviously 
this conflict with an impediment in the course of carrying 
out coordinated activities is the universal occasion of its 
appearance. 

Such a view as this finds its most immediate and striking 
confirmation in the depressive emotions like fear, grief, and 
embarrassment, but it is not less true of the more sinister 
emotions, such as anger and jealousy, and it seems to be 
obvious enough in certain moral crises, in which we speak of 
the "pangs of conscience.'^ The period of abortive voluntary 
control is often brief, and frequently the resumption of co- 
ordinated action antedates very much the cessation of the 
organic emotional disturbances. One suffering the depths of 
grief may thus take up again the weary round of a blighted 
life, despite the gnawing pain at the heart and the constant 
presence of the face that has gone. When we turn to the 
more mirthful emotions, it may not appear so certain that 
the same principle maintains, yet careful observation will 
assure us that it does. 

Our appreciation of wit and humour certainly involves this 
form of readjustment. The joke is par excellence the typical 
stimulus provocative of disorganising tendencies in our co- 
ordinations. We listen to the skillful raconteur, our minds 
following step by step the evolution of the epic, and then, 



THE NATURE OF EMOTION 3^9 

presto! the unexpected occurs, our minds react to the shock 
with an appreciation of the anomalies of the situation. The 
motor discharge in laughter announces the relief of the 
energy pent up momentarily by the unforeseen denouement, 
and the total experience constitutes our feeling of the funny, 
the odd, or the amusing. 

On the whole, then, there seems no reason to question the 
essential validity of this general view of the function of emo- 
tion and the conditions which call it forth. We may, there- 
fore, revert with advantage to certain points in our analysis 
of instinct which must be brought into connection with our 
theory of emotion. The utility of the motor attitudes of 
emotion will be there discussed, a topic bearing directly upon 
the subjects just considered. 



CHAPTER XIX 
GENEEAL THEORY OP EMOTION" 

Further Relations of Emotion and Instinct. — We noticed 
in a previous chapter that our instinctive reactions are accom- 
panied by consciousness, and we observed further that the 
consciousness is of the kind which is commonly called 
emotional. We did not, however, point out the striking fact 
that this emotional element varies very greatly in the several 
kinds of instinctive activities which we discussed. This 
variation characterises not only the qualitative features of the 
emotion, but especially and conspicuously the intensity of the 
mental disturbance. After the considerations of the last 
chapter, it is unnecessary to dwell upon the vivid and 
tumultuous nature of the conscious processes in anger, fear, 
grief, and the reactions of this type. We observed in the 
cases cited that much of the stinging intensity of the experi- 
ence is derived from the afferent nervous impulses originat- 
ing in muscular disturbances of the digestive, circulatory, 
and respiratory tracts. On the other hand, in such impul- 
sive operations as imitation and play these intra-organic dis- 
turbances may be largely lacking. The mind is, under sudi 
conditions, monopolised with the achievement of the objective 
act, and is affected much less definitely by the sensory stimu- 
lations of the systems just mentioned. So far as these sys- 
tems do contribute to modify the condition of consciousness, 
it is commonly in the direction of creating a feeling of gen- 
eral bodily well-being, emanating from the vigorous normal 
activities of the vital organs. 

We must conclude, therefore, that even though we are 
obliged to admit a minimum measure of emotional tone in all 



GENERAL THEORY OF EMOTION 381 

instinctive or impulsive acts, which we refer forthwith to the 
bodily resonance aroused by all such acts, nevertheless, some 
instinctive activities are markedly emotional, whereas others 
are not. Those which are obviously of the emotional type 
present instances in which the motor reaction is largely con- 
fined, so far at least as concerns its immediate significance, 
to intra-organic disturbances. The defensive emotion of 
anger is the only one which regularly reveals any strong 
tendency to pass over into acts producing changes in the sur- 
rounding objects. Such impulses as those of play tend, on 
the contrary, to pass immediately over into acts affecting one's 
surroundings. In both the more and the less emotional forms 
of instinct the motor activities are supposedly determined by 
racial hereditary influences, but in the emotional form this 
determination is relatively more definite, and often more 
elaborate, as in fear; whereas, in the less emotional form it 
is little more than a disposition or tendency to certain kinds of 
reaction, which are, however, highly modifiable. 

While we possess, then, inherited tendencies to acts which 
seem to affect primarily either our own organism or the 
environment, as the case may be, it is the former of these 
tendencies rather than the latter which is ordinarily called 
out by obstacles to our progress. Whenever such obstructions 
(perceptual or ideational) are encountered, the motor dis- 
charge is thrown back upon the vital processes of the organism 
itself, and straightway we have an emotion. It now remains 
to discover more fully, if possible, the meaning of this 
situation. 

Genesis of Emotion. — We described in chapter XV the 
general theories touching the origin of instincts, but we may 
profitably consider again, in connection with our analysis of 
emotion and its variable connection with instincts, the ques- 
tion of the genesis of emotional consciousness. 

Our study of the various cognitive processes, such as per- 
ception and memory, and our study of affective phenomena. 



382 PSYCHOLOGY 

have enaMed us to ascribe in every case some specific function, 
or group of functions, which each process serves in the general 
economy of m^ental life. The essential problem now before 
us is to find the real function of emotion, and to account, if 
possible, for its specific forms. We have already noted ita 
appearance under conditions of stress and tension requiring 
new conscious coordinations, in order to permit progress, and 
we have connected this fact with the service of emotion as a 
general monitor reporting friction and the need of additional 
intelligent supervision. Can we, however, locate the source 
of this friction and give it its intelligible setting in the 
history of organic evolution? Can we, moreover, discover 
any reason for the differences in the qualities which the 
emotion of fear manifests when compared with grief? If 
the monitory character of emotion contained an adequate 
explanation of its function, it does not appear why these two 
emotions mentioned should display any such radical differ- 
ences. From this point of view, all that is required is some 
index in consciousness which shall, with a maximum of cer- 
tainty, attract attention to the difficulties to be overcome. 

The direction from which we may unquestionably look for 
assistance in answering these questions is that hinted at in 
the account of the evolution of instinct. The best exposition 
of this theory, and the one which we shall adopt in a general 
way, has been given by Dewey. His theory can hardly be 
called conclusively proven, but it is unquestionably the most 
plausible and luminous exposition of the Darwinian hypothe- 
sis, in connection with the Lange-James theory, which has 
been as yet attempted, and we shall certainly be wise in 
accepting it provisionally. 

Put briefly, it is this: The peculiar feeling which marks 
each emotion off from other emotions is primarily due to the 
different reactions which various objects call forth. These 
reactions are in turn determined by circumstances, which may 
lie indefinitely far back in the early history of the race, but 



GENERAL THEORY OF EMOTION 383 

in each case they required for their effective manipulation 
special forms of coordination. The coordinations which 
served these ends were necessarily useful, and so tended to 
become fixed as organic heritages. Every emotional reaction 
represents, therefore, the survival of acts originally useful, 
either in the immediate physiological way, or in the indirect 
biological and social way. Wundt and others also recognise 
forms of reaction which tend to copy already established 
responses to stimuli, that arouse "analogous feelings.^' Thus 
we raise the nostrils in token of moral disgust, just as we 
do at a nauseous odour. In the present-day individual these 
originally valuable reactions are not commonly executed as 
they once were, for they are no longer unequivocally useful. 
But they appear now in the form of attitudes, or tendencies 
to action, which are, however, in part inhibited from expres- 
sion. This inhibition is due to the fact that, owing to our 
personal experience and our present complex structure, the 
emotional stimulus tends to produce two or more different 
motor reactions, instead of producing simply the old, in- 
stinctive, hereditary one. The emotion itself is in essence 
our consciousness of the conflict between the several reactions 
which the stimulus tends to call forth. The conflict subsides 
only when the two or more groups of nascently aroused co- 
ordinations are in some way unified and brought into a larger 
and more inclusive coordination, "Were there no such tenden- 
cies to specific forms of movement originally appropriate to 
special conditions, undoubtedly emotions would be either all 
alike, or else utterly irregular and disorderly. One or two 
illustrations may serve, in connection with our previous analy- 
sis, to make this general hypothesis clear. 

Illustration of the Principle. — Suppose that in walking 
across a meadow we are suddenly beset by an irate bull. 
So far as the bull is an interesting and unfamiliar object 
the visual impression which we get of him undoubtedly 
tends to bring about such movements as may permit us to 



384 PSYCHOLOGY 

examine him miore closely. Such tendencies involve move- 
ments of approach. In so far, on the other hand, as he is a 
roaring, devastating mass, indulging a high momentum in 
our direction, he equally stimulates motions of defence and 
retreat. Now, however it may be with the first group, this 
second group of tendencies is very largely instinctive in origin, 
and involves movements which unquestionably were originally 
of practical utility, whatever their present worth, e. g., the 
breathing temporarily checked, as on all occasions immediately 
preparatory to severe effort; the increasing rapidity of heart- 
beat, with its consequent augmentation of the circulatory 
efficiency, etc. ; all making for the maximum chance of suc- 
cessful escape from danger. If either of these groups of 
impulses were carried over into immediate action it seems 
improbable that the emotion of fear, as we know it, would 
appear at all. Certainly the expression of the motor tenden- 
cies indicative of curious interest would not produce fear, 
and if the impulses looking toward retreat were absolutely 
alone in the field, it is altogether likely that we should have 
conditions akin to those which characterise the free expression 
of the play impulses in children, %. e., heightened sense of 
vitality, but no such emotion as fear. Evidently these two 
groups of impulses called forth by the ominously interesting 
bull cannot both be expressed simultaneously, and in point of 
fact they tend to inhibit one another. It is the organic out- 
come of this conflict of impulses, of which we become so keenly 
conscious as the '^emotion." If the disposition usual in 
such cases finally conquers, we take to our heels, and at this 
point an instructive confirmation of our theory occasionally 
comes to light. 

If we succeed in really putting our whole minds into the 
running, the emotion of fear is practically at an end. We 
may still have exhilarating, and even exhausting, mental 
excitement, but terror has fled with our own whole-hearted 
fleeing. In reality we often fail to throw ourselves thus 



GENERAL THEORY OF EMOTION 385 

completely into the act of flight, and instead of this, images of 
the pursuing fate keep rising in our minds. We hear the 
thunder of footsteps, and the air is rent with savage bellow- 
ing. Each one of these sounds may stir in us a fresh emo- 
tional paroxysm, and in just the same way as the original 
reaction was aroused. The impulse may be now strong to 
turn and see how near the brute has come, and over against 
this tendency is the impulse to run still faster. In this man- 
ner recurrent waves of emotion may overwhelm us, until 
haply we reach the point where free and unimpeded co- 
ordinations may once more fare forth. This is most apt to 
occur on the other side of the bulFs fence. But in any case 
the emotion evaporates when the mutual antagonism and 
inhibition of impulses cease, and not until then. 

A Difficulty. — It may occur to someone to inquire what 
becomes, on the basis of this theory, of the emotional out- 
bursts of fear on the part of little children, too young to have 
knowledge of the objects serving as stimuli, and therefore, 
too young to have any of the acquired tendencies to reaction 
of which we have spoken, and to which we have assigned so 
important a part. We have, for example, previously men- 
tioned the fear which children sometimes manifest of fur. 
The reply to this query is that such seizures are not, properly 
speaking, emotional at all in the sense in which the adult 
experiences emotion. True emotion distinctly implicates an 
element of knowledge. We are afraid of this, that, or the 
other thing of which we Jcnow something which inspires our 
dread. Such reactions, therefore, on the part of children 
must be altogether on a par, as conscious processes, with the 
first consciousness of one's organic sensations. They may be 
disagreeable, and probably are, but they no more deserve the 
name emotion, before there is a knowledge (however rudi- 
mentary) of the significance of the stimulus, than do the 
immediate feelings of stomach-ache, of fatigue, or of general 
vitality. 



386 PSYCHOLOGY 

The Case of Satisfaction and Joy. — We may take, as am 
antithetical illustration to put alongside our description of 
fear, the emotion of satisfaction, where it might seem that 
we have necessarily an essential absence of conflict and inhibi- 
tion. But if we examine a specific instance of emotional 
elation, such as that which arises from victory in an athletic 
contest, we instantly meet evidence confirmatory of our view. 
Up to the moment of final success there has, we may suppose, 
been an oscillation between anxiety and exultation, as the 
tide of victory has ebbed and flowed. On the whole, however, 
if the contest has been close, anxiety and tension have prob- 
ably dominated in consciousness. Now that the issue is 
closed, and the die is cast, a tide of riotous joy surges over 
us. We shout, laugh, and jump, wave hats, canes, umbrellas, 
whatever comes to hand; our next neighbour is the recipient 
of jovial thumps and punches, and our whole nature expands 
triumphantly in unconstrained complacency. 

All these performances we think of as expressions of the 
emotion, and the analysis of the previous chapter implied that 
our consciousness of these movements constitutes the essen- 
tial differentia of the emotional psychosis from other states 
of mind. The point we make here is one already mentioned 
in the account of impulse, i. e., that we should not become 
so vividly aware of the movements were there not a tend- 
ency to inhibit them, occasioned by tendencies to make other 
movements. All consciousness, to be sure, seems to be toned 
more or less by the sensory reactions which arise from the 
constant overflow of neural excitement into the muscles, 
and in so far every psychosis has an element of emotion In it. 
But it is in connection with the conflicts sometimes encoun- 
tered in the expression of our racially hereditary impulses 
that we get the full clear case, to which the term "gross 
emotion^' is occasionally applied. In the instance of our 
illustration the inhibitive tendencies mentioned are primarily 
those expressive of our anxiety, and careful introspection will 



GENERAL THEORY OF EMOTION 387 

unquestionably show that the real feeling of joy and satisfac- 
tion is precisely contemporaneous with our mental portrayal 
of the strife and furor of the contest. When we cease to live 
over again in memory the crucial moments of the game, the 
emotion of joy has given way to some other more negative 
and quiescent state of bodily lassitude and content. It must, 
of course, be recognised that much which we commonly think 
of as mental satisfaction is really an altogether unemotional 
condition of placid vegetation. We stretch ourselves out after 
a good meal, and are at peace with the world. We are satis- 
fied. But this condition must not be confused with the thrill 
and tension of real emotion, however undiscriminating our 
descriptive language may be in calling both experiences states 
of satisfaction. 

A precisely similar situation will be found in every case 
of joyous emotion, whatever its cause. The lover who has at 
last carried love's citadel ; the business man who has cornered 
his market; the scientist who has proved his theory — one and 
all get the thrill and poignancy of joy from the stress and 
eagerness of conflicting impulses in which the whole nature is 
enlisted. On the one hand are tendencies expressive of doubt, 
hesitancy, conservative retreat; on the other the expressions 
of forceful advance, of success and victory. The two sets of 
motor reactions are in unstable equilibrium, mutually inhibit- 
ing one another. The consciousness of our organic activities 
involved in this condition gives the mental background for 
our recognition of success, and the total psychical result 
is the emotion of joy. Once the victory is clearly recognised 
as won, and the game felt to be wholly over, our joy promptly 
begins to pale and fade. Moreover, let it not be supposed 
that intense joy is wholly unalloyed pleasure. Quite the 
contrarj^; such joy has its pain: 

" Our sincerest laughter 
With some pain is fraught." 

To be sure, the affective tone of joy is dominantly pleasurable, 



388 PSYCHOLOGY 

and tlie reasons for this condition are not far to seek, as we 
shall presently see. But the emotion is a state of tension, 
and this fact is all too likely to be submerged from notice in 
our disposition to emphasise the objective basis of our joy, 
rather than the m,ental experience in which it is apprehended. 

Possible Utility of Emotional Attitudes. — ^Why should 
these special expressions, however, characterise joy rather 
than others — say those which characterise grief? What 
utility have these reactions now, or could they ever have 
possessed, by virtue of which they appear in us as hereditary 
attitudes? In our discussion of instinct we commented upon 
the speculative nature of such explanations as we are about 
to suggest. In the light of present knowledge they seem, 
however, to offer the most plausible theory available. 

The typical expression of joy is laughter, but laughter, 
let it be remembered, is also expressive of many other 
things, e. g., surprise, derision, contempt, and even the more 
paroxysmal forms of grief — a circumstance which appears 
anomalous in the light of any theory other than the one 
herewith set forth. In all these cases the laugh is the motor 
activity which inevitably accompanies the explosive release 
from sustained tension, with its suspended breathing. In 
our account of the attentive processes in consciousness we 
remarked the holding of the breath as one among other 
adaptive motor arrangements, all of which involve muscular 
tension. In joy, in the appreciation of humour, in surprise 
after expectation, we meet precisely this suspension of breath- 
ing suddenly cut short. The innervation of the vocal, facial, 
and breathing muscles which this involves is the laugh. 
Stress has often been laid upon the rhythmic nature of 
laughter, and undoubtedly this is one of its essential features. 
But this does not distinguish it from other effective coordina- 
tions which are also rhythmic, and of which we shall have 
more to say in another chapter. Joy is, then, an emotion 
which, taken in its entirety, involves a measure of antecedent 



GENERAL THEORY OF EMOTION 389 

tension, to which the motor reaction involved in laughter and 
its accompanying gestures constitutes a necessary relief. The 
stimulus to these tensions is suddenly transformed, we behold 
it in a new light; the tension may, therefore, be released, and 
our consciousness of the entire process by which the release 
is progressively procured, as we apprehend the stimulus in a 
new way, is the emotion. The utility of the attitude of joy 
should accordingly be sufficiently obvious. 

if space permitted, and had we not already touched upon 
essentially the same matter in discussing instinct, we might 
in a similar manner illustrate the original utilities of the 
attitudes peculiar to anger, grief, and the other rudimentary 
emotions. Thus, Darwin has suggested that the rolling up of 
the upper lip in anger is a vestige of habits which belong to 
the days when men fought with their teeth. The clenching 
of the fists has an unmistakable implication. The sigh in 
grief and the sobbing, which also belong to this emotion, are 
probably explicable along lines resembling those we have 
described in connection with joy. The sigh with its strong 
movement of inhalation perhaps serves to restore the deficient 
oxygenation of the blood. Certainly radical measures are 
often needed, for the depressor effect upon the tonus of 
the muscles is in many cases of grief so severe as to menace 
life. It would undoubtedly be interesting to canvass the 
expressions of such familiar emotions as reverence, hope, 
remorse, gratitude, shame, bashfulness, disgust, etc., but we 
must forego this. The reader must not forget, however, that 
the utility of these emotional attitudes is generally most evi- 
dent in connection with their function in primitive condi- 
tions of life. This is certainly true of the reactions which 
have a definitely biological and social value in distinction from 
a merely physiological value. The more violent expressions 
of anger have practically no justification under civilised 
conditions of life, and other similar instances wiU readily 
suggest themselves. 



3 go PSYCHOLOGY 

The various acts whicli we call expressions of emotion are 
simply acts whicli are, or probably once were, useful under the 
circumstances calling forth the activity. It is, therefore, a 
genetic fallacy to speak as though the emotion first existed, 
and then sought an appropriate expression. The expressive- 
ness of such acts is primarily a thing which exists only for 
some observer. The acts are, or at all events originally were, 
direct or indirect means toward the realisation of some end 
which the individual has in view. The movements of my 
hand, as I write, are not to me expressions of my thought. 
They are simply means to the end. No more are the emo- 
tional reactions primarily expressive to the person making 
them. 

The Tender Emotions. — Before leaving the general sub- 
ject of emotion, mention must be made of the tender emo- 
tions. Under this caption English psychologists group a 
number of our more delicate and spiritual emotional ex- 
periences. Here belong sorrow, pity, gratitude, reverence, 
benevolence, together with certain forms of love and sym- 
pathy. These emotions are for the most part "derived" and 
are very complex. They are generally well marked^^A^^ith either 
feelings of happiness or sadness, and they stand in most 
intimate relations with the sentiments of which we shall 
speak in a moment. They afford no exception to the prin- 
ciples which we have formulated. But their composition is 
often extremely difficult to analyse and they are frequently 
experienced in weak and attenuated forms which allow their 
organic motor accompaniments, whether excitor or depressor, 
to escape detection. They are sometimes called "higher oi 
finer emotions" and are then alleged to offer exceptions to the 
account given by the Lange-James theory of the motor 
aspects of emotion. The reason for this assertion has just 
been indicated. 

Mood and Temperament. — While emotions are called forth 
by specific objects, we are all familiar with the fact that for 



GENERAL THEORY OF EMOTION 391 

considerable periods of time we often find ourselves especially 
susceptible to certain forms of emotion. After receiving a 
piece of good news we may find every event for hours after- 
ward tending to take on a bright and humourous colouring. 
On the other hand, it is an equally common experience to find 
that a fit of indigestion will cast a saffron hue over the most 
welcome fortune. This predisposition to special forms of 
emotion we call mood. It seems to rest upon definite organic 
conditions, which sometimes appear to be originated purely by 
intra-organic physiological disturbances, but which sometimes 
are evidently due to the residual effects of past emotions. In 
the latter case they are practically recurrent, or continuous, 
emotions. In either case they afford nothing essentially 
novel for our inspection. Under certain conditions of intense 
and relatively permanent emotion we speak of the condition 
as one of passion. Passion, however, is a term which is used 
very loosely in several other connections. 

When we compare individuals with one another, one of the 
striking differences which we observe concerns their in- 
herited susceptibilities and predispositions to certain forms 
of emotional response. This characteristic is one of the most 
important elements in the constitution of what we call tem- 
perament. Whereas mood indicates a relatively transitory 
disposition toward a certain emotional tone, temperament re- 
fers to a permanent tendency, contributing to the very warp 
and woof of character. In the conception of temperament 
intellectual and volitional attributes are also included, but the 
emotional factor is, perhaps, the most significant. The classi- 
cal division of temperaments into sanguine, choleric, melan- 
cholic, and phlegmatic may be recalled. The sanguine and 
choleric types are alert and easily stirred, the latter displaying 
a more intense, the former a feebler, interest. The melan- 
cholic and phlegmatic types are slow in response, the former 
evincing a strong and vivid interest when once aroused, the 
latter manifesting a persistent but weak interest. While 



392 PSYCHOLOGY 

these cliaracterisations serve to suggest certain familiar dif- 
ferences in emotional organisation, they are but rough-and- 
ready devices. Individuals vary in dozens of significant ways 
not taken into account by these classifications, e. g., 
in memory, in attention, in imagination, etc., and one of the 
results for which we look to individual psychology is a more 
penetrating and exhaustive analysis of the elements con- 
stituting temperament. 

Sentiment. — Emotions are not dependent upon bodily con- 
ditions alone for a soil favourable to their development. 
Indigestion may, indeed, render us prone to irrational irrita- 
tion and depression, and blooming health may constitute an 
auspicious prologue to emotions of joy. But another circum- 
stance must be added, if we are to include all the conditioning 
factors. This additional consideration is found in the trains 
of ideas which possess our consciousness at any moment, and 
particularly in those general habits of thought and reflection 
which characterise our more distinctly intellectual life. If 
our customary habit of thought is of an altruistic and opti- 
mistic turn, there can be no question but that we shall more 
readily respond to emotional stimulations of the sympathetic 
type, than if our minds are sicklied o'er with a paler and lef9S 
human cast. These relatively permanent dispositions are what 
we designate our sentiments. Love, friendship, enmity, etc., 
are the names by which we know such characteristics. It 
will be obvious at once that the relation ^between sentiment and 
emotion is in a sense reciprocal. Our sentiments predispose 
us to certain kinds of emotion, — or put more truly, are the 
predispositions to such emotions, — whereas the cultivation of 
any emotion tends as a rule still further to fix the disposi- 
tion which it reflects. 

Like feelings and emotions, sentiments may be classified 
in many ways, but the results are quite arbitrary and not 
profitable for consideration here. The division into concrete 
and abstract may be mentioned. Abstract sentiments would 



GENERAL THEORY OF EMOTION 393 

be illustrated by love of truth, of science, or art, or letters. 
Concrete sentiments are such as love or reverence for parents. 

Relation of Emotion to Other Conscious Processes. — If we 
undertake to connect our analysis of emotion with the account 
we have already given of other mental processes, it will at 
once be evident that we have been dealing with a very complex 
psychical condition. . Clearly there must always be a cognitive 
element in emotion. We apprehend some object, some cir- 
cumstance, which is what we call the cause of the emotion. 
This apprehension inevitably involves attention and the as- 
similative, or associative, activities which we remarked as 
invariably accompanying cognition. Furthermore, we have 
repeatedly emphasised the strong affective tone which emo- 
tions display, together with their marked motor attitudes, 
and many of the emotions to which we have referred had 
already been mentioned as ''feelings." It seems desirable to 
dwell a moment upon the nature of this identification of 
certain emotions and feelings. It must be definitely under- 
stood at the outset that all emotions are feelings in the "mean- 
ing assigned by us to the term feeling. The question we are 
now briefly to consider is simply that of the precise implica- 
tion of certain of these emotions to which we had previously 
accorded a classification as feelings. 

Feeling and Emotion. — When we speak of sympathy we 
sometimes mean to indicate a definite feeling which has many 
of the characteristics of emotion, and sometimes we refer sim- 
ply to a sentiment, to a general attitude of mind. The same 
ambiguity attaches to our use of the opposite condition, i. e., 
antipathy, and to many other so-called feelings, e. g., pride, 
humility, love, and hate. The moral feeling of obligation, or 
the feeling of conscience, affords a further instance of an 
emotional psychosis, often extremely intense and characterised 
by distinct motor attitudes. It is at times highly complex 
in composition, having in it elements of fear, remorse, 
awe, and the like. The feeling of dependence, which plays 



394 PSYCHOLOGY 

SO essential a part in religious phenomena, the feelings of 
reverence and of faith, all have at times an emotional colour- 
ing which cannot be questioned. 

The gesthetic consciousness offers repeated instances of 
feelings which are tinged with emotion, although it must be 
frankly confessed that much which masquerades as aesthetic 
appreciation is, even when sincere, far too cold-blooded, far 
too strictly intellectual, to lay any claim to an emotional char- 
acter. The orchestral rendition of a Beethoven symphony 
may fill us with the most genuine and delightful emotion, it 
may interest us merely as a superlative achievement of tech- 
nique or it may, frankly, bore us. Evidently its claim to the 
production of a positive and unmistakable emotion will de- 
pend, in part at least, on such circumstances as our mood and 
our musical development. But it must not be supposed that 
intellectual activities are, as such, necessarily devoid of all 
emotional context. We already know that they may possess 
marked affective tone. The experience of wonder is often a 
genuinely emotional one, and it is distinctively an emotion 
belonging to cognitive processes. Belief, too, is often a dis- 
tinctly emotional experience. Yet belief is essentially a 
judging process with a complicated development and an inti- 
mate dependence upon volition. 

The fact of the matter is that such forms of mental life 
as these which we have just been mentioning are astoundingly 
elaborate products of our developing consciousness, and 
although we find evidences here and there in them of native 
emotional reactions, they are, in our adult life, anyhow, inex- 
tricably intertwined with the results of previous personal 
experience. This makes it impossible to regard them merely 
as emotions of the purely hereditary type to which the earlier 
analysis in this chapter has been mainly devoted. But despite 
this qualification, we see at once whence it is that they get 
their astonishing impulsive power over us. However small 
the seed, there can be no doubt that each of these feelings, for 



GENERAL THEORY OF EMOTION 395 

which onr language has so complex a system of titles, con- 
tains within itself the hereditary racial tendencies which con- 
stitute and exjDlain the imperiousness of emotion. The truth 
of this assertion is confirmed by the essentially social char- 
acter of the most important of these feelings — a point already 
touched upon in chapter XIV. This social nature of ethical 
feeling hangs together with the necessarily social character 
of righteousness. The religious feelings are not less social, 
so far as they may be conveniently distinguished from the 
moral feelings. But they find their application in a social 
order which transcends in part at least the imperfections of 
life as we know it here. The sesthetic feelings might appear 
to be purely personal. But a further study discloses the fact 
that the social element is fundamental here, too. This is, 
of course, exactly what we should expect of any conscious 
process which betrays an emotional cast, for the emotions 
reflect racial habits, and these must inevitably have a social 
basis. 



CHAPTEE XX 
ELEMENTAEY FEATUEES OP VOLITION 

All of our study up to this point has been devoted to the 
several distinguishable features of consciousness by means of 
which mental operations are carried on. We have discussed 
the several phases of the cognitive activities, such as memory, 
imagination, perception, conception, judgment, .and reason- 
ing. We have described the salient peculiarities of the 
affective processes. We have analysed the racial hereditary 
traces in consciousness as shown by emotion, and we have 
from time to time exhibited the different forms of motor co- 
ordinations with which the organism appears to be endowed, 
and through which it executes its adjusting movements. It 
remains for us in the following chapters to bring these various 
descriptions and analyses into perspective with one another by 
examining in its entirety, and with much more of detail than 
was furnished in chapter III, the development and char- 
acter of voluntary control. 

Method of Study. — Hitherto we have made it a general 
practice to begin our study of a given mental process by 
analysing its more conspiciious and characteristic features, 
and then, with this as a starting point, we have turned back 
to trace, whenever we could, the genesis and function of the 
process in the individual or the race. We have always laid 
great stress on this genetic side of the case, because it is 
evidently impossible to evaluate and interpret a biological 
phenomenon intelligently unless one knows its antecedents, 
and mental facts furnish no exception to this rule. But, on 



ELEMENTARY FEATURES OF VOLITION 397 

ths other hand, mental facts are so complex and elusive that 
an effort to trace the unfolding of consciousness can hardly 
be successful save when one has already some inkling of what 
to look for. In the investigation of volition we can proceed 
with a much larger measure of freedom than heretofore, be- 
cause we have already dealt with the more important elements 
concerned, e. g., attention, sensation, perception, ideas, and 
movements. We shall, therefore, after a brief analysis of 
these elements pass on to considerations of a primarily genetic 
kind. Subsequently we shall return to consider the more com- 
plex relations of voluntary acts. 

General Analysis of Volition. — When we direct our atten- 
tion to the immediately discernible features of voluntary acts 
in adult life, we note that such acts always involve foresight 
of some end, that this end is desired or at least consented to, 
and that certain muscular movements then occur which are 
meant to attain the end.* We observe, further, that on some 
occasions the mere presence of a percept or an idea carries 
with it instantly and without deliberation the execution of 
movement, whereas on other occasions arrival at the stage of 
mental consent requires long trains of reflective thought, and 
movements expressive of the decision may be postponed indefi- 
nitely. Sometimes the decision seems to be a relatively pas- 
sive affair which makes itself on the basis of the facts 
considered. Sometimes, on the other hand, the whole self 
seems to be projected into the choice, and the consciousness 
of this mandate of the will is designated by James and others 
as the "fiat." Moreover, we observe that ordinarily the 
attainment of a decision finds the muscles already capable 

* Inasmuch as certain decisions seem primarily to concern our 
trains of thought rather than our muscular activities, as when we 
resolve to continue a course of reflection, our formulation may 
appear to emphasise unduly the motor features of volition. But 
it must be remembered that voluntarily carrying on a process of 
thinking requires the securing of definite motor attitudes, and 
furthermore, that all svich thinking has as its piirpose some future 
action, however long deferred we may expect this action to be. 



398 PSYCHOLOGY 

of carrying out the necessary coordinations, but occasionally 
the will can command no adequate motor agents. We may 
readily illustrate certain of these cases. 

As I sit at my desk I feel a draft. Without a moment's 
hesitation I rise and close the window. Here is a sensory 
process, followed immediately by an appropriate movement 
of voluntary muscles. Again as I write, a word comes into 
my mind about the spelling of which I am uncertain. In- 
stantly I turn it up in the dictionary. Here is an idea followed 
promptly by a movement of the volitional kind. As I proceed 
with my writing I come to a point where I must decide 
whether or not to incorporate a certain subject in my text. 
The merits of the question require long and careful consider- 
ation. Finally I decide to drop the matter from my book, 
and forthwith my writing goes on upon another topic. In 
all the cases thus far cited I have been in command of the 
motor coordinations needed to realise my purposes. But if I 
suddenly desist from writing and decide to step to the piano 
in the next room and indulge in a sonata, my willing be- 
comes a mere burlesque, for I cannot play. 

We may safely start, then, from the assumption that every 
voluntary act involves the presence in the mind of sensory 
or ideational material in some way anticipatory of the act. 
With this doctrine as a point of departure we must examine 
more precisely our volitional consciousness and its relation to 
our movements. So far as the "fiat" represents in the 
author's opinion a genuine feature of volitional processes, it 
will be discussed in a later chapter in connection with the 
consciousness of effort. It will evidently be judicious to select 
for our present study acts which differ as widely as possible 
in their antecedents, in the character of the results achieved, 
and as regards the muscles employed in their accomplishment. 
Let us first, then, consider such a variety of voluntary acts 
in which different muscles are concerned. Although cast 
in personal form, the descriptions offered are based upon 



ELEMgt^TARY FEATURES OF VOLITION 399 

experiments made by a number of observers. The reader must 
compare his own experiences with them. 

The Sensory and Ideational Elements of Control Over Vol- 
untary Acts. — When I wish to sing or whistle a melody, I 
observe that the appropriate muscular movements follow the 
presence in my consciousness of auditory and kinsesthetic 
images. I seem first to hear the melody mentally, and to 
feel the sensations which come from my throat and lips when 
I do actually sing or whistle. After I have once started, the 
sound of the notes may serve to awaken the movements for 
their proper successors. In writing, on the other hand, I 
observe, especially in the case of words which are difficult 
to spell, that my movements are more or less controlled by 
visual imagery. I get a glimpse at a visual image of the word 
to be used. In this case, however, I am also often aware of 
auditory images of the sounds of the sequent letters as they 
would be heard were the word being spelled aloud. There is, 
moreover, a rather constant escort of kinsesthetic images aris- 
ing from the influence of former sensations of the hand 
movements employed in writing the word. I may use as cues 
for the ensuing movement the kinassthetic sensations originat- 
ing in the muscular contractions of the hand, from the atti- 
tudes it assumes. Even the sound of the scratching of the 
pen may be utilised as a means of control. 

Whenever the coordinations are very familiar and habitual, 
as commonly occurs in writing, the mere general thought of 
what one is about to write will serve to instigate the movement. 
In such cases our attention is so fixed upon the meaning of 
the writing, that we are generally entirely oblivious of the 
special form of control involved. The mere pronouncing of 
a word or the use of any imderstood signal may elicit the 
proper motor attitude, which can then at pleasure be con- 
verted into movement. Moreover, in such habitual cases, 
long trains of coordinations may be set in movement by a 
single cue at the beginning. This sort of thing is illustrated 



400 PSYCHOLOGY 

by our ability to repeat memorised material of any kind 
whether expressed through hand or lips. But, if examined 
experimentally, in all these cases short of pure automatisms, 
the guiding support of the accompanying sense processes will 
be found indispensable. Through touch or vision or hearing 
we must be occasionally informed of our progress. 

In throwing at a mark my attention is almost wholly 
absorbed in looking at the spot for which I am aiming. The 
control of the throwing movement in this case is largely from 
visual sensory currents, dimly reinforced, however, by kin- 
esthetic impressions from various parts of the body. In 
jumping from a standing position there is first a visual per- 
ception of the distance or height to be cleared, followed almost 
instantly by a setting of the various muscles of the body 
involved in the act, with a consequent mass of kinesthetic 
sensory impressions aroused by these muscular contractions. 
When these sensations have reached what is judged to be an 
adequate quality and intensity, the mind says "go," and the 
jumping occurs. 

These illustrations suggest that sensational or ideational 
processes may be used indifferently as the immediate pre- 
cursors of coordinated movements, and they suggest, further- 
more, that any hind of sensory or ideational material may be 
used in this way. Our cases have disclosed auditory, visual, 
and kinassthetic qualities, but a further search would have 
revealed still other forms. 

If these cases seem too trivial to be fairly illustrative, we 
may turn to a case involving some serious practical conse- 
quences, e. g., the consideration of a large investment. It 
will, however, be seen at once that such a case promptly 
reduces to the form of reasoning. We may, therefore, with- 
out more ado refer back to the evidence which we presented 
in our discussion of that activity, to show that, so far as we are 
dealing with clearly conscious process, meaning-bearing 
imagery of one kind or another is a constant feature of it. 



ELEMENTARY FEATURES OF VOLITION 401 

Linguistic imagery is likely to be conspicuous, although we 
have seen that certain persons are so absorbed in the meaniag 
of their thoughts as often to be oblivious to the character of 
the constituent material. We shall find ourselves on such 
occasions as that of our illustration passing in mental review 
ideas which represent the pros and cons of the proposed in- 
vestment. Little by little one of these groups of ideas begins 
to displace the other, and to become more firmly organised 
in our consciousness, until at last the opposite group is alto- 
gether vanquished and devitalised. The expression of our 
decision may take verbal form, or it may result in our writ- 
ing a check, or making some other equally significant motor 
response. 

Types of Connection Between the Sensory-Ideational Ele- 
ments and Movements. — Now if we call to mind each of our 
illustrations we shall notice that in certain cases the idea 
which apparently controlled the voluntary act was an idea of 
the movement itself. This is partly true in the case of 
singing, more largely true in the case of jumping, where 
peripherally aroused impressions predominate over those cen- 
trally aroused. That is to say, in certain instances Jcinaes- 
thetic sensations and images furnish us the material by means 
of which we practicall}' anticipate, and so control, the move- 
ment we wish to make. In other instances, however, the Sen- 
sations and ideas have to do primarily with the results of the 
movements, or with something connected with these results 
in a secondary fashion. The auditory images used in the 
control of singing, whistling, and sometimes writing are cases 
in point. In controlling vocal movements in this way we are 
employing images which are copies, in a measure, of sensory 
impressions made upon the ear by the vocalisations. But 
when the hand movements of writing are thus controlled, i. e., 
by auditory cues, we clearly have a roundabout connection 
between vocal spelling movements, with their auditory conse- 
quences, and hand spelling motions. In the case of our 



402 PSYCHOLOGY 

investment decision tlie ideas may have had to do entirely with 
the conditions of the markets, the vitality of our own bank 
account, etc., and the act which expressed the decision, e. g., 
signing our name to a check, may never once have come to 
mind until the deed was about to be executed. We must 
recognise from these observations that the ideas and sensations 
by means of which we supervise our movements may be of 
the most various character, and their relations to the move- 
ments may be either very close, as in the case where they are 
kinsesthetic, or indefinitely remote. James employs a useful 
pair of terms in calling those ideas of movement which 
originate in the part of the body moved, ^'resident," desig- 
nating all other ideas which arise from the consequences of 
the movement, "remote." It must be added, however, that in 
practice the severance of the two from one another is in most 
persons by no means so complete as his description implies. 
After we have commented upon another in^portant char- 
acteristic of these volitional acts we must attempt to discover 
just how it comes about that the various forms of sensation 
and imagery which we have noted attain their connection 
with the relevant movements. 

Attention and Volition. — More fundamental, perhaps, in 
volitional processes than the controlling imagery is the fact 
of attention. Ko idea can dominate our movements which 
does not catch and hold our attention. Indeed, volition as a 
strictly mental affair is neither more nor less than a matter 
of attention. "When we can keep our attention firmly fixed 
upon a line of conduct, to the exclusion of all competitors, 
our decision is already made. In all difficult decisions the 
stress of the situation exists primarily in the tension between 
the ideas representing the alternatives. First one and then 
another of the possibilities forces itself upon us, and our 
attention will not rest for more than a moment or two upon 
any single one. 

The reaction experiment allows us to study this play of 



ELEMENTARY FEATURES OF VOLITION 403 

attention under conditions of control. We are instructed to 
make a given movement, say of the hand, when a definite 
signal is perceived, perhaps a sound or a light. The time 
is measured between the signal and our response. We find 
that the time of the reaction varies greatly in dependence 
upon the direction which we give our attention. In general 
it is shortest when we attend to that part of the total activity 
which is least habitual. We may find our attention naturally 
tending to fall upon the movement to be made. In this case 
if we try to attend to the sound or light and make a "sensory"' 
reaction, we shall react more irregularly and often more 
slowly. Most people are disposed in such cases to attend 
to the movement and this "motor" form of reaction is gener- 
ally in consequence faster. As habituation proceeds it vrill 
become a matter of indifference to which part of the act 
we attend. The whole thing will have become highly auto- 
matic. It must not be overlooked that listening or looking 
involves motor processes, involves attitudes, just as truly as 
moving the hand. The distinction between "sensory" and 
"motor" reactions is really a distinction between two kinds 
of motor reactions, a less habitual and a more habitual, or 
possibly between two equally habitual. 

The chapter upon attention brought to our notice a num- 
ber of reasons for believing this process to be a universal 
feature of consciousness, and we can feel no surprise, there- 
fore, to find it playing a dominant role in volition where 
consciousness displays its most significant characteristics. It 
is by means of our ideas that we anticipate the future and 
project for ourselves the lines of our conduct, but it is by 
means of attention that we actually succeed in making some 
one of the anticipatory ideas real in the form of action. 
Attention must have something to work upon, and this some- 
thing is supplied in the form of sensational and ideational 
presentations. Attention is the function in which mental 
possibility becomes motor actuality. With this fact in mind. 



404 PSYCHOLOGY 

our next business must be the tracing of the development by 
means of which the various kinds of ideas which we find 
ourselves using to control our movements come to have this 
peculiar power. This undertaking involves our turning back 
to the conditions in infancy and early childhood, during which 
most of our important coordinations are established. The 
primary steps in volitional development are devoted to gaining 
control over bodily movements. 

Transition From Random to Controlled Movements. — We 
have already had occasion in earlier chapters to inventory the 
capital of motor coordinations with which the new-born babe 
is endowed, and we have found it confined to a few simple 
reflex movements, for the most part poorly executed, to a few 
possibly "spontaneous movements," and to a store of auto- 
matic activities concerned with respiration, circulation, and 
nutrition. Voluntary action in any proper sense is wholly 
wanting, and this finds its immediate explanation in two con- 
siderations: (1) the psychological fact that voluntary action 
implies action toward some recognised end which the absence 
of experience necessarily precludes; and (2) the physiologi- 
cal fact that the cortical centres are still too imperfectly de- 
veloped to afford interconnections between the sense organs 
and the voluntary muscles. The latter consideration is, of 
course, fatal to any immediate development of voluntary con- 
trol, but even were the nervous system functionally mature at 
birth, the first difficulty would prevent the rapid establishing 
of such control. In our description of impulsive activities in 
chapter III we noticed that little by little the merely random 
movements of infancy become coordinated with reference to 
certain sorts of stimuli, until by the end of the third or fourth 
week, with most children, the eye movements can be con- 
trolled, and by the end of the twenty-fourth month all the 
more important rudimentary muscular movements can be 
executed. Now, what are the intermediate steps between this 
period of merely reflex, or random, impulsive activity with 



ELEMENTARY FEATURES OF VOLITION 405 

which the child begins life^ and the period of voluntary motor 
control ? 

Elementary Principles of Transition. — We may lay down 
two general propositions to start with, which must be continu- 
ally borne in mind in order to avoid misapprehension. These 
principles, which are sustained by all observation, are: (1) 
that all voluntary control is built upon a foundation of move- 
ments which are already going on in an uncontrolled im- 
pulsive way; and (3) that the development of control, 
although from the beginning it extends in a measure, per- 
haps, to all the voluntary muscles, proceeds more rapidly, 
now in one group and now in another. Broadly speaking, 
the larger muscles are first brought under accurate control, 
while later on the more delicate movements of the small 
muscles are acquired; a fact which should be taken into ac- 
count in the early occupations of children. This law of 
periodic or rhythmic growth characterises all mental and 
bodily development. A child may have fairly good control of 
its eye movements, while the arm movements are still vague 
and inaccurate; and it may have acquired considerable dex- 
terity with its hands, while still unable to command its feet 
with much success. Volition must not, then, be thought of as 
a process in which consciousness somehow brings into life 
movements which previously did not exist. The problem of 
the evolution of control is primarily the problem connected 
with the coordinating, in reference to certain ends, of move- 
ments already occurring in an uncoordinated way. We are 
under no obligation to explain the existence of the move- 
ments. They are already in evidence. Our problem is simply 
concerned with the method of their systematisation, and their 
organisation, in connection with consciousness. 

Law of Excess Discharge. — Although we have in chapter 
III already noticed many of the significant facts involved 
in the process, we may profitably examine again a case 
illustrative of one typical form in which control over these 



4o6 PSYCHOLOGY 

unordered movements is secured. Let us suppose that a 
bright and noisy rattle is presented to the notice of a child 
who has learned to focus his eyes, but who is as yet unable to 
reach intelligently for objects. How does the child learn to 
grasp such an object, which he sees and hears? The rattle 
stimulates at once both eye and ear. The child's first reac- 
tion is, perhaps, one of astonished inspection, as he gazes at 
this unfamiliar thing. The noise continues and the bright 
colour catches the attention. The sensory currents from the 
two sense organs find no adequate drainage channels in the 
motor attitude involved in watching, and they begin to over- 
flow into other channels. The pathways leading to the pro- 
duction of random impulsive movements are pervious and the 
overflow from the sensory disturbances naturally tends, there- 
fore, to pass off in these directions. Consequently we pres- 
ently see that the child is moving hands and arms and head 
more or less violently, and often the muscles of the trunk and 
legs are also much affected. 

First Accidental Success. — At first these movements are 
inevitably spasmodic, vague, and uncoordinated. They sim- 
ply suggest, as we observe them, some sort of explosion in 
the motor centres. But the continued presence of the rattle 
for a few moments is very likely to result in some movement 
of the arms adequate for grasping it. 

The first step, therefore, in securing voluntary control of 
the hand and arm under such circumstances is based upon the 
tendency of the sensory stimulations to produce diffused 
motor discharges throughout many muscles of the body. 
Certain of these motor activities result in changing the stimu- 
lus in some way. The next problem is, therefore, concerned 
with the consequences of this fact, which in the case of our 
illustration consists in the successful grasping of the rattle. 

Pleasurable Tone of Accidental Success. — When the rattle 
is actually grasped we have a new stimulus immediately in- 
troduced. In place of the rattle seen-and-heard, we have 



ELEMENTARY FEATURES OF VOLITION 407 

now the rattle felt-and-heard-and-seen-moving-with-the-hand. 
These distinctions, of course, cannot exist for the baby with 
any such definitcness as they do for us who are looking on. 
But they exist as diiferences actually sensed, however inade- 
quately they might be described, supposing the child were 
able to express himself. The mere change of the stimulus 
visually attended to must, then, under the supposed condi- 
tions, serve momentarily at least to intensify the child's atten- 
tion to the total situation. Furthermore, the grasping of the 
object, involving as it does a definite motor coordination of 
an efficient kind, is per se agreeable, i. e., it is a normal 
activity of functions (in this instance instinctive) adequate 
to the demands laid iiipon them. The result of success in the 
reaching and grasping, with its agreeably heightened con- 
scious tone, will accordingly accentuate the disposition to fix 
in the form of habit the total series of reactions which have 
led up to this particular outcome. 

Progress After First Success. — From this point on progress 
is generally slow and tentative, as it is in the learning proc- 
esses of animals, differing markedly in this respect from 
certain features of the process by which adults learn new co- 
ordinations. When the coordination is actually well matured, 
two striking characteristics distinguish it from the prede- 
cessors out of which it has grown. It is accurate, not 
hesitant nor vague, and it involves only the muscles actually 
necessary for its performance, instead of many others in vari- 
ous parts of the body. How have these useless movements 
been eliminated? We cannot reply to this question with as 
much definiteness and detail as is desirable, but the general 
nature of the process seems to be somewhat as follows. 

Elimination of Useless Movements. — The baby's conscious- 
ness is all the time vividly enlisted in the movements which 
he is making, but the rattle furnishes the constant focus for 
these, and for the baby's attention. Of all the movements 
which are made, those are most likely to be noticed which are 



4o8 PSYCHOLOGY 

most intimately connected with the immediate field of atten- 
tion. Needless to say, these are the movements of the child's 
own hands and arms, which he must see whenever they chance 
to approach the rattle, and of which he must be vaguely 
aware as often as they move. So far, then, as the rattle is 
the centre of the baby's attention, those sensations will re- 
ceive most emphasis in consciousness which are most imme- 
diately connected with it, which coalesce most readily with 
it into a single experience, changing when it changes, re- 
maining unchanged when it is unchanged. 

Once again, let it not be supposed that we are for a moment 
oft'ering such an analysis as the above as an account of any- 
thing present reflectively to the child. His naivete may be 
as great as possible. We are simply describing the kinds of 
sensations which must apparently get most conspicuous 
representation. The situation seems to hinge, for the 
explanation of its development into controlled move- 
ment, with lapse of useless movements, upon the pleasurable 
fixation of attention on the rattle and the consequent empha- 
sis of all sensations caused by movements affecting this 
centre of attention. Such movements as regularly affect the 
rattle are thereby necessarily emphasised, so long as the rat- 
tle is the object of attention, and the predisposition for the 
sensory impulses to drain out through them is heightened. 
The others fall away largely because the neural energy is 
adequately provided for in these new-formed pathways. But 
they do not fall away at once, and the effective coordination 
is not set up at once. The process is slow, and gives every 
indication of being a real growth. 

The Case of Ideational Control. — Our explanation thus 
far has been cast in terms of the law of habit, operating 
under the intensifying effects of agreeable attention upon 
motor discharges of an impulsive and excess-discharge type. 
It suggests an explanation of how it might come about that 
when an interesting object is placed before a child he might 



ELEMENTARY FEATURES OF VOLITION 409 

be able to reach, it. But what explanation does it afford of 
the ability voluntarily to control the hand and arm move- 
ments of this kind when a stimulating object is wanting? 
How does it account for the origin of such ideational control 
as was evidenced in our analysis of adult volition at the be- 
ginning of the chapter? 

The facts upon which the correct explanation rests were 
discussed in the chapters beginning with perception, memory, 
and imagination. All centrally initiated imagery is ulti- 
mately derived from antecedent sensory sources, and like its 
sensory precursors it all tends to be converted sooner or later 
into motor activity. In asking how ideas come to set up 
movements therefore, our only problem is how particular 
ideas come to be followed by particular appropriate move- 
ments. The tendency to produce motor changes of some kind 
is an innate characteristic of all imagery processes. In this 
sense all our ideas are motor. Or, as certain psychologists 
would put it, all consciousness is conative. The real question 
is, why an idea should ever fail to produce a movement, and 
we anticipate our discussion so far as to say forthwith that 
such failure is due simply and solely to the inhibiting effect 
of some other sensational or ideational process, which is also 
struggling for motor expression. 

This assertion finds interesting confirmation in the dis- 
position of many children to think out loud. The absence of 
inhibiting ideas results in the expressive movements of enun- 
ciation. Imperfect inhibition is shown by persons who 
move the lips when absorbed in thinking or reading, without 
actually speaking. "Muscle reading" depends upon the same 
principle. If one think intently of a hidden object, it is 
practically impossible to avoid making movements toward 
it. By means of these slight movements the "operator" is 
enabled to locate it. Acts of this kind are sometimes called 
ideo-motor and are cited as evidence of the normal form of 
volition, i. e., an idea directly followed by action. 



410 



PSYCHOLOGY 



Neural Habit and Ideational Control. — The explanation of 

the fact that such ideas are able to call forth the movements 
desired seems to rest wholly upon the principle of neural 
habit. The appearance in consciousness of the idea of the 
movement means in the first instance a re-excitation neurally 
of a certain central portion of a sensory-motor arc. Granted 
that such an excitation takes place^, whatever its neural 
antecedents, we can feel sure, from the polar nature ©f ner- 
vous currents, that it will ultimately produce motor effects. 
The ideational process simply reinstates, as we have so often 
noted heretofore, the latter portion of a previous sensory-motor 
process. This relation is exhibited graphically, although 
with extreme simplification of the actual facts, in the accom- 
panying diagram (figure 63), in which 8S8M represents 




-^e- 




FiG. 62. The pathway from 8 to M represents the course of a 
sensory stimulus passing from a sense organ to a muscle 
through cortical centres. The pathway / to M represents the 
course of an ideationally, or centrally, aroused neural activity 
traversing in part the same pathway as the previous sensory 
stimulus, and issuing in the same muscle. 

the course of a sensory impulse forward into a coordinated 
reaction; and IIIM represents the same reaction, but in 
this case with its initiation in an image or idea. If it be ad- 
mitted, then, that we have already discovered the essential 
steps in the process by which movements become coordinated 
in reference to certain sensory stimuli, it follows inevitably 



ELEMENTARY FEATURES OF VOLITION 411 

from the considerations which we have brought forward in 
earlier chapters that a re-excitement of the central regions 
connected with these sensory-motor coordinations will, unless 
inhibited in some definite manner, reproduce the same motor 
reactions. Ideas are the conscious factors in such central 
excitations. The idea of a movement is, neurally considered, 
the beginning of that movement. By means of association, 
ideas which are in any vital way connected with movements 
may ultimate^ be used to produce them. 

Feeling^, Emotion, and Sentiment in Volition. — Although 
but little explicit attention has been called to the matter, it 
must be obvious that feeling, emotion and sentiment are 
tremendously important determinants of volition. Many of 
the emotions we have found possessed of native motor ex- 
pressions. Strong feeling of every kind is distinctly motor 
in tendency. Pleasure and pain are cardinal factors in guid- 
ing conduct. While all this is admitted, and, indeed, in- 
sisted upon, it must not be forgotten that in so far as volition 
is a process in which we anticipate actions, it must involve 
perceptions and ideas. It is these elements in our feelings 
and emotions by means of which we succeed in making ap- 
propriate and effective responses to given situations, rather 
than random ones. Emotion and feeling are indeed dynamic, 
but they have definite direction. We are afraid of some 
specific thing. We are covetous of some particular honour. 
The object toward or away from which we feel impelled is 
represented by some perception or idea, and it is these ele- 
ments in the emotion which give it effective direction. To 
say, then, that an emotion or a feeling or a sentiment may 
determine a voluntary act, is only to say that a certain form 
of perception or idea may do so. It is therefore unneces- 
sary to add anything on this score to our previous account of 
the elementary features of volition. 

The Learning of New Cobrdinations by Adults. — It will 
be profitable to pause a moment at this point and examine 



412 PSYCHOLOGY 

certain peculiarities of adult processes of learning. It has 
sometimes been maintained that adults in learning any new 
coordination avail themselves, first, of the "resident" imagery, 
i. e., that which represents the kinsesthetic sensation of the 
moving part; and that after the coordination has been estab- 
lished they resort to "remote" imagery, i. e., that which 
represents the sensory effect of the movement upon sense 
organs other than those in the part of the body moved. There 
is undoubtedly a measure of truth in this formulation, but it 
requires some modification before we can accept it. If we 
examine the facts in the case of acquiring a new series of co- 
ordinations, such, for example, as playing the piano, we find 
very great individual variation, but in general the process 
is of the following character: 

We first employ the visual impression to guide us as to 
the proper position for our hands. We then attempt to secure 
a distinct tactual-kingesthetic impression of the hand and 
fingers when their position is correct for securing certain 
results, e. g., playing the scale. For a long time the proper 
playing of the scale requires the control of both the visual 
and the tactual-kinaesthetic processes, one of which is resi- 
dent and one remote. Moreover, it is visual and kinses- 
thetic sensory elements, rather than images or ideas, which 
are employed at the outset. After the coordination is fairly 
well established, the sensory control may be disregarded and 
either kind of imagery may then be employed to discharge 
the movement. As a matter of fact, when this stage is 
reached another and more remote form of imagery generally 
steps in and takes command — if, indeed, it has not partici- 
pated earlier. Playing commonly is done from a printed 
score, and always, save upon a few humanely constructed 
instruments, produces sound. "When the control of the finger 
movements is highly developed, the sight of the score, the 
visual image of it, or the auditory image of the sound of 
the composition, may serve entirely well to bring about the 



ELEMENTARY FEATURES OF VOLITION 413 

movements, which seem to "take care of themselves," as 
we say. 

It appears, therefore, that the change in the form of 
imagery which we employ in the control of our movements is 
not to be described merely in terms of a transfer from resident 
to remote. The sequence of events in the most highly devel- 
oped cases seems to be of this character, i. e., resident-and- 
remote-sensations immediately connected with the movements, 
resident-and-remote-ideas immediately connected with the 
movement, remote-sensations-and-ideas mediately connected 
with the movement. The clue to the several steps in the 
onward progress will generally be found in inquiring where 
one's interest is located at the moment. So long as this 
is necessarily in the movement itself whose control we de- 
sire, the psychological elements will all be found gathered 
about this. Some of them will be resident, some remote. 
The moment the movement is mastered, however, interest 
generally moves forward to the application of the movement 
in some larger undertaking, and at this stage the mental ele- 
ments which refer to the movement and bring it into opera- 
tion may be only remotely connected with it. But the 
connection is, nevertheless, real, however seemingly remote, 
and the appropriate muscular activity never follows an idea, 
unless one's previous experience has in some fashion or other 
established a nexus of the habit type. The functional or- 
ganic connection between such ideas and their motor expres- 
sions is just as genuine as that displayed by any other kind of 
ideo-motor fusion. It is only from the standpoint of the 
outside observer, who either does not know or else neglects 
the antecedent development, that the two things appear re- 
mote and disconnected from one another. 

The Disappearance of Consciousiiess rrom Controlled Co- 
ordinations. — We must emphasise once again one of the 
rudimentary facts about the establishment of motor control. 
"We have repeatedly had occasion to remark that consciousness 



414 PSYCHOLOGY 

tends to disappear the moment that physiological conditions 
are established adequate to the supervision of the various 
motor adjustments necessary to the organism. The case of 
volition affords the conspicuous and typical instance of this 
disposition. When a special form of motor activity is needed^ 
attention steps in and the psychophysical processes which we 
have just described cooperate to effect a satisfactory coordina- 
tion. This coordination is then deposited, so to speak, in the 
nervous system in the form of a habit. When further or- 
ganic demands arise, this habit is ready at hand and capable 
of being employed with "a minimum of conscious control. In 
this way consciousness is ever pressing onward, supported by 
the reserve forces of habitual coordinations, which can at any 
moment be summoned in the conquest of new realms. Voli- 
tion has thus no sooner established a habit, than it turns about 
and employs the habit as a tool in the construction of larger, 
more extensive habits. 

In adult life almost all of one's important decisions are 
carried out in a practically automatic manner by established 
coordinations of the habit type. AVriting, reading, walking, 
talking — what is there that one does — which does not in 
the last analysis reduce to the use of acquired habits; and 
for the actual execution of the muscular movements the most 
fleeting and inconspicuous cues are often adequate, because 
of their habitual character. The ethical and pedagogical 
importance of this absolutely fundamental nature of habit, 
upon which we enlarged in chapter III, must be obvious. 
When viewed in this way one sees, too, why volitional proc- 
esses seem at first sight to have so much of the miraculous in 
them. Why and how should the mere flitting of an idea 
through my mind lead to such remarkably complex and well- 
adapted acts as the singing of an aria, the paying of a bill, 
etc? The answer is literally impossible, unless we turn back 
and trace the progress step by step through which the coor- 
dinations have become established and come into functional 



ELEMENTARY FEATURES OF VOLITION 415 

connection with particular ideas. When we have made such 
an approach to the problem as this, the solution is seen to 
involve definite and intelligible laws operating in a fixed and 
definite way. 

Volition and the Types of Imitation. — It will be re- 
called that we classified one form of imitation among the 
impulsive types of reaction. Psychologists are at variance 
with one another as to its instinctive nature. It will appear 
when we take up the discussion at this point, as it did in the 
chapter on instinct, that certain varieties of imitation are 
undoubtedly not instinctive in any demonstrable manner, 
whereas certain other varieties of it strongly suggest this 
origin. Moreover, certain forms of reaction which have been 
called imitative are characterised by the mere repetition of a 
movement regardless of its immediate provocative. Imitation 
in the more customary and limited sense applies properly to 
cases in which the action of some second person is intention- 
ally copied — in purpose if not in fact. It must also be 
added that whereas imitation in the common implication of 
the term applies to acts done consciously and with definite 
intent, certain imitative reactions are apparently executed 
without any explicit purpose and with a minimum of con- 
scious supervision. These complexities in the modern mean- 
ing ascribed to the term "imitation" need to be borne in 
mind, if one is to avoid confusion. This is especially true 
when one is referring to such acts for light upon the mode 
in which voluntary control is attained. 

Primary Imitation. — The repetition of monosyllables, such 
as da-da, which many babies indulge in long before they begin 
to use vocal sounds intelligently, may serve to illustrate the 
first type of imitative acts. Sometimes these sounds are 
closely similar to certain words which the child may have 
heard. But it seems questionable how far the term imitation 
can fairly be applied to acts of this character. In any case 
they belong to the form of activity which Mr. Baldwin has 



4l6 PSYCHOLOGY 

dubbed '^'circular reactions." The articulatory movements, 
once they are made, produce auditory and kinassthetic sensa- 
tions. These sensory stimulations drain out again through 
the already pervious pathways leading to the same muscles, 
and so the process goes on more or less indefinitely. Such 
employment of the muscles is, within the limits of fatigue, 
per se agreeable, and we must suppose that even though the 
function of consciousness under these circumstances is largely 
reduced to that of a spectator, it nevertheless, as spectator, 
indorses the on-going activity and serves thus in some measure 
to fix in the habit form the neural-motor groupings which are 
concerned. Certainly, when one can get the child's attention, 
the movements are commonly checked for the time being, 
thus suggesting that in some way they are after all in a 
measure dependent upon the conscious processes. 

Characteristics of Conscious Imitation. — Conscious imita- 
tion of copies set by other persons and felt by the child to 
be models, which he strives to duplicate, constitute a later, 
more complex, and possibl}^ more important form of action. 
Indeed, Mr. Baldwin will have it that in this condition we 
meet the real beginning of volition, and to it he assigns the 
convenient designation "persistent imitation." The term 
"persistent" emphasises the fact that such imitative move- 
ments are made again and again in the face of partial failure, 
until success is finally achieved. 

It must be remembered, however, that many consciously 
imitative acts are not repeated, or at all events are repeated 
after long intervals and without any reference to their previ- 
ous performance. Thus, a child may make a definite effort 
to repeat a new word that he hears his parents use. His 
failure may be ludicrous and it may be weeks before another 
effort is made. In the case of older children and adults per- 
sistent imitation is an omnipresent phenomenon. If one boy 
in a group Jumps over a fence, every other boy feels himself 
under obligation to go and do likewise ; and those whose efforts 



ELEMENTARY FEATURES OF VOLITION 417 

are below the accepted standard of excellence promptly devote 
themselves to correcting the defect, adopting for their pattern, 
30 far as possible, the achievement of the leader of the group. 
In social life one large mass of people is always engaged in 
attempting to follow the pace of the leaders. Each smaller 
group has its own chief, who again sets the pattern for that 
group, and in no realm of life, whether gesthetic or religious, 
practical or theoretical, are we ever wholly free of the dis- 
position to imitate. What is the actual process involved in 
the more rudimentary expressions of this deep-seated human 
tendency ? 

The process may take place under either of two forms, seem- 
ingly distinct, but fundamentally alike. The imitation may 
be directed to repeating certain movements e. g., the gestures, 
intonation, or facial expression of some other person, or it 
may be concerned with the production of a result similar to 
some standard object set up as a model, e. g., a letter, or a 
figure, in which case the actual movements employed may vary 
considerably from time to time without seriously impairing 
the integrity of the copy. Although this instance of reproduc- 
ing some visible outline is more highly evolved than certain of 
the earlier forms of conscious imitation, it will serve satisfac- 
torily to exemplify the basal facts about such activities and 
their relation to developing volition. It will be seen, more- 
over, that they are distinguished in one respect only from the 
type of developing coordination which we first described, i. e., 
in the presence of an external standard with which their re- 
sults are compared. 

A young child learning to write is commonly given a copy, 
and then the teacher takes a pen and demonstrates how it 
should be held, and how the writing movement should be 
made. When the child essays his imitation the usual 
result is something of this kind: The pen is grasped with 
needless severity, the brows are wrinkled, the muscles of the 
body are tense, the breathing is spasmodic; often the mouth 



4i8 PSYCHOLOGY 

is open, and the tongue is discovered to be making futile 
movements in secondary imitation of tlie hand-tracing. Evi- 
dently the stimulus has resulted, as in other cases which we 
have examined, in an overflow of nervous energy into muscles 
which are largely irrelevant to the success of the immediate 
enterprise in hand. The product of this effort is compared 
with the copy, its failure to comply with the original is noted, 
and another effort is made. Or the repetition may be forth- 
coming simply because the act itself is agreeable, and with a 
splendid disregard of any disparity between copy and original. 
In other cases, candour compels one to admit, the next attempt 
is made under the influence of some one of the various forms 
of suasion of which the teacher may be master. When the 
activity goes forward of the child's own initiative, however, 
and when he is left more or less to himself, he slowly manages 
to improve his worlc both as regards faithfulness of portrayal 
and as regards the elimination of useless movements. 'Now 
this result is achieved in much the same manner as already 
described in connection with our illustrative baby and rattle, 
so that however fundamental these conscious imitative proc- 
esses may be in putting the child in touch with his social 
surroundings, the method of procedure adds nothing essential 
to the forms we have already studied. 



CHAPTEE XXI 

EELATION OF VOLITION TO INTEREST, EFFORT, 
AND DESIRE 

The foregoing chapter has brought to our notice certain of 
the rudimentary features of voluntary action. We have traced 
the general development by means of which impulsive and 
other primary forms of movement set up sensory excitation, 
which is then appropriated and converted either directly, 
or indirectly as imagery, into a mechanism of control over the 
movements. We have also remarked the tendency of atten- 
tion in volition to produce the semi-conscious, or non-con- 
scious, quasi-automatic acts which we call habits, and its 
further tendency to pass on, as soon as such habitual coordina- 
tions are established, to the formation of yet other habits. 
In the present chapter we must examine certain of the wider 
and more general characteristics of volition, and especially its 
relations to effort, interest, and desire. 

Theory of Selective Attention in Volition. — When we de- 
scribed in the last chapter the manner in which choice is ac- 
complished by means of the selective activity in attention, 
which rejects certain ideas and clings to others, we made no 
special attempt to explain why attention displays these prefer- 
ences. Indeed, no ultimate explanation can be given for 
these decisions, any more than an ultimate explanation can be 
given for the constitution of the sun. But in a proximate 
way we can get at the reason, and we find it is connected very 
closely with our whole view of the nature of organic life and 
the significance of mind for living creatures. 



420 PSYCHOLOGY 

Spontaneous Attention. — In our account of attention, early 
in the book, we emphasised the basal nature of what we called 
spontaneous or non-voluntary attention, i. e., attention directed 
freely and without compulsion, in a manner expressive of the 
mind's inner interests. We have recently been discussing a 
parallel fact in the motor region under the name of impulse. 
When we put these two groups of considerations together, 
we find that the organism manifests, both on the psychical 
and the physiological sides, definite projective ten'dencies. 
Certain kinds of movement, certain kinds of objects, appeal 
to us at once natively and without reflection. We come 
into the world, so to speak, with a bias already favour- 
ing certain experiences at the cost of other possible ones. 
Moreover, we vary from one another very markedly as regards 
the special directions of this bias. So far, then, as choice 
comes down to a question of attention to ideas, we may be 
sure that by virtue of this spontaneous characteristic of atten- 
tion certain ideas will from the first be given preference over 
others. 

If we take the situation on the level of our own adult con- 
sciousness, we find that we are naturally disposed to attend to 
those ideas which immediately interest us, rather than to those 
which do not. But when we ask the further question, why 
they interest us, we can only point again to the spontaneous 
and impulsive nature of attention. We get back here finally 
to the admission that both the hereditary and the personal 
history of each of us has produced differences in our impulsive 
and spontaneous modes of acting which we all recognise in 
one another, and for which we can offer no detailed explana- 
tion. Fortunately, however, we can point out somewhat 
more intimately certain of the fundamental features of in- 
terest as a mode of consciousness, and this we may briefly 
undertake. 

Interest. — Interest has sometimes been treated by psycholo- 
gists as one of the intellectual feelings. In the case of mere 



RELATION OF VOLITION TO INTEREST 421 

curiosity the reason for this is fairly obvious. Indeed, we 
mentioned curiosity as one of these feelings, when we were 
analysing affective consciousness. But if we consider the type 
of interest which we feel in an absorbing pursuit, a game, an 
experiment, or a business venture, then we recognise that 
such interest, however truly it may display affective charac- 
teristics, is a phenomenon which belongs conspicuously 
among the conative processes of mental life. To bring out 
ths point it is sometimes said that "we may give attention, 
but we always take interest.^' This statement discloses the 
positively active, self-expressive, self-assertive nature of in- 
terest. We have observed that attention is always in point 
of fact an expression of organic activity, but the subjective 
difference between listless attention to a tedious subject and 
the kind of attention we give to things which interest us is 
unmistakable. 

Stimulus of Interest. — Like other psychical experiences, 
interest always has some stimulus. However completely 
absorbed we may conceivably become in our own merely sub- 
jective feelings, interest always has some object to which it 
refers, and the object is definitely recognised. This gives us 
at once a point of identity and a point of difference between 
interest and pure racial impulse. Both are projective, both 
are dynamic, but one has a recognised object toward which 
it is directed, whereas the other at first has not. Spontane- 
ous attention may be a primary mental activity. Interest 
is always secondary. It is a conscious phenomenon attaching 
to objects of which we have already had some experience. 
When we seek to discover what attributes an object must 
possess in order to be interesting, we are forced back at 
once upon uninstructive generalities. We may say, for ex- 
ample, that all objects which call out emotion are likely to 
be interesting — in a broad meaning of the word. But we 
have instantly to admit that in the main we cannot say in 
advance of the actual test with each individual whether an 



422 PSYCHOLOGY 

object will call out an emotion or not. The peculiarities 
of personal constitution, the vicissitudes of personal history, 
the reigning mood, these and a thousand other factors may 
all enter in to modify the reaction. 

In the same general way it is sometimes said that strange 
things are interesting. But this statement also has limita- 
tions of a serious character. Things may be so strange as 
to be utterly meaningless to us, and in such cases we are 
essentially oblivious to them. The behaviour of primitive 
peoples confronted for the first time with the paraphernalia 
of civilisation is replete with illustrations of this fact. 
Again, the affairs of our daily routine are said to interest us, 
hecause we are accustomed to them. If this assertion of in- 
terest in routine were always true, which, unfortunately, 
perhaps, is not the case, the explanation offered for the fact 
is evidently in flat contradition with the implication of the 
previous instance of interest in strange things. Indeed, con- 
sidered impartially, it is difficult to discern any reason why 
either strange or familiar things should be per se interesting 
simply by virtue of their familiarity or strangeness. 

The moment we accept the view that the individual, as 
born into the world, has certain predispositions toward spon- 
taneous attention in given directions, just as he has native 
impulsive movements, we instantly get a standpoint which 
renders intelligible the different forms of interest which dif- 
ferent individuals reveal, even though we may be quite unable 
to account specifically for the special interests which any 
particular person evinces. 

Attention and Interest as Organising Activities. — When 
we recall the fact that attention is essentially an organising 
activity, bringing into relation with one another the various 
objects toward which it is successively directed, we can readily 
appreciate how the existence of spontaneous attention should, 
at a very early date in the life of each of us, serve to estab- 
lish a positive and systematised predisposition to emphasise 



RELATION OF VOLITION TO INTEREST 423 

certain interests and obliterate others. To the child of 
strongly artistic bent everything is absorbingly interesting 
which touches in any way upon art, and all other interests 
tend to become subservient to this, on pain of absolute sup- 
pression. With most of us spontaneous attention runs out 
to welcome a miscellaneous range of objects and experiences, 
and the development of a single paramount interest is often 
slow or altogether wanting. 

There is nothing incompatible (crede experto) in a boy's 
being thoroughly interested in both fishing and geometry. 
The incompatibility arises only when one interest assumes the 
right to control the other permanently, or at improper sea- 
sons. While spontaneous attention is, therefore, primarily 
responsible for the differentiation of our interests, the sub- 
sequent course of development involves the coordination of 
these interests with one another. In this process we call 
into play in varying measures our reflective abilities and 
thus elaborate, each for himself, a certain hierarchy of inter- 
ests. Not that this undertaking is, perhaps, ever accom- 
plished with a definite recognition of what is in progress. 
But as adults we can all discern that such a process has 
actually been going forward in us. In childhood our inter- 
ests were chaotic, disconnected, unordered. In maturity they 
are fairly well marked out and related to one another. Many 
of the adolescent and childish interests have disappeared 
altogether. The interests in toys and in dancing may have 
evaporated. In their stead we find interests in the home, in 
our professions, in certain kinds of amusement, etc. 

It may be said that, after all, this elimination and precipi- 
tation of interests which we find characterising adult life is 
again explicable in the last resort only by the action of spon- 
taneous attention. This is probably true in so far as it 
means that in the last analysis the explanation of what vitally 
interests us is to be found in our native constitution. But 
in distinction from the cruder expressions of this spontaneous 



424 PSYCHOLOGY 

attention in childhood and infancy, the conditions in later 
life reveal a much more reflective and rational exercise of the 
function. Moreover, we have at this point to remember once 
again that man is from beginning to end a social creature; 
he is constantly under the pressure of social influences; and 
a large part of the explanation for the special directions which 
attention finally does take, in building up the interests of 
each one of us, will be found to lie in the effects of the social 
rewards and punishments meted out to us by our companions. 

Put a child into a group of religious ascetics to grow up 
and the chances are that the only interests which will really 
get opportunity to live and thrive will be those which are 
conformable to the ideals of such a community. On the 
other hand, let him be cast among pirates, and a totally dif- 
ferent group of interests will blossom forth. This is not be- 
cause the child is a hypocrite. It is simply because one of 
the most universal of all objects of spontaneous attention is 
found in the attitudes and actions toward us of those among 
whom we live. A certain amount of repression from them 
may not stifle a vigorous interest. But many a taste which 
might in a kinder social climate take root and bring forth 
rich fruit, dies ere it is fairly planted, because of the frosts 
of social disapprobation. 

Interest and Native Talent. — Highly important is it both 
practically and theoretically to recognise the existence of 
specific natural talents. These are often hereditary, but not 
infrequently they crop up unexpectedly in soil apparently 
most unpropitious. They represent the directions in which 
the individual is prepared to offer society his mjost effective 
service and for this reason, as well as because in pursuing these 
lines he can enjoy the happiest and most wholesome life, such 
talents ought to be cultivated. We speak of course simply of 
those which are not clearly vicious in tendency. Such gifts 
are as various as the facts of life itself, but familiar ones are 
the following : The talent for mechanics and the engineering 



RELATION OF VOLITION TO INTEREST 425 

sciences in any one of their branches from carpentry 
and metal work to bridge construction and architecture: 
trade and commerce^ the management of people, whether 
for industrial, political, or military purposes: music, draw- 
ing, painting, and the plastic arts. Medicine, law, the minis- 
try, and teaching, all require peculiar gifts, possessed in 
marked degree by certain individuals, not to mention the 
career of letters and scientific research. To these capacities, 
many of which are considered to be primarily masculine, 
women add talents for more purely domestic callings. 

Clearly certain of these capacities are of a kind to appear 
only in adult years. They are not necessarily less native for 
that. Certain others appear in childhood and it is these 
which require especially careful nurture. At first these 
talents are evinced as interests rather than as accomplish- 
ments. It is this fact which renders their mention here 
appropriate. 

Interest a Dynamic Phase of Consciousness. — Interest evi- 
dently represents the spontaneous, dynamic side of our 
psychical make-up. The self is in a very true sense reflected 
in one's interests. It would be truer to say that a person's 
emotional reactions disclose his interests than to say, as is 
occasionally done, that his emotions call forth interest. 
Furthermore, in the light of our preceding analysis, it seems 
clear that the interest which we are said to feel in strange 
things finds its basis in the expansion of our selves. ITot 
the absolutely strange thing do we find interesting, but the 
thing familiar enough to be vitally connected with our past 
experience and still novel enough to be felt as a definite en- 
largement of this experience. As we saw long since, all such 
expansive states of consciousness are, other things equal, 
intrinsically agreeable, and they afford a definite appeal to 
the accommodatory function of attention. The interest of 
the customary, the habitual, has a precisely similar basis. It 
is only as we find ourselves and feel the experience as a real 



426 PSYCHOLOGY 

expression of ourselves that routine is interesting. "WTiat- 
ever is purely mechanical in it is simply disregarded in 
consciousness. 

The artist is the man above all others to whom routine is 
utterly delightful, not because it is easy, not because it fosters 
the caprices of his indolence, but because it calls into action 
the very heart of the man himself. Moreover, let it not be 
overlooked that the artisan or the professional man who thus 
delights in his work for its own sake is in so far an artist — 
the carpenter, the engineer, the lawyer, and the teacher. 
Each is making, or doing, that which gives overt expression 
to his own inner nature. So far as routine is disagreeable, 
apart from sheer physical fatigue, it is because it does not call 
out an expression of the real self, nor of its keener interests. 
It is executed in spite of those interests, and against their 
violent and increasing protest. Let it be understood that we 
are not here discussing the ethics of routine, the righteous- 
ness or unrighteousness of our feelings, either of satisfaction 
or disgust. We are simply pointing out the conditions under 
which routine is interesting or otherwise, and showing their 
connection with the sources of interest in the strange and the 
novel. 

Moral Decisions. — To many persons moral decisions which 
are made with great effort and under the influence of active 
conscience appear to be the most genuine expressions of the 
will, the most typical instances of volition. Such experi- 
ences are felt to reveal more intimately and deeply than any 
others the real nature of our personal character and power. 
The man of strong will is thus the man who can wrestle suc- 
cessfully with temptation, feeling to the uttermost the 
poignancy of his desire, but still opposing to it the irresistible 
force of his ideal. It behooves us, in view of this widespread 
feeling about the significance of decision with effort, to con- 
sider the important facts in the case. Are we, indeed, in 
these decisions made conscious of some inner and unique 



RELATION OF VOLITION TO EFFORT 427 

constituent of the mind which on other occasions is wanting, 
or at all events lurks so surreptitiously in the background as 
to defy detection? 

Volition and Effort. — Broadly speaking, there are three 
main forms of voluntary processes involving the conscious- 
ness of effort. We neglect for the present, at least, the case 
of mere physical effort, such as is involved in lifting a heavy 
weight. (1) We are conscious of effort when we attempt to 
keep our attention upon some tedious and uninteresting sub- 
ject. (2) We are also conscious of effort when we must make 
some momentous decision, where a correct choice evidently in- 
volves a large number of complex considerations which we are 
not certain we have properly in mind, or when we are in doubt 
as to our possession of the precise facts. Such cases need not 
implicate our own personal desires on either side. Compli- 
cated financial problems often illustrate such situations. In 
both these cases, however, the feeling of effort does not at- 
tach primarily to the fact of cJioosing among the alternatives. 
It is a feeling of strain and tension which we refer to the 
whole intellectual process. It partakes more nearly of 
fatigue than of any other single nameable experience of a 
familiar kind. (3) The third type of case is represented by 
the moral crisis, in which we find ourselves beset by some im- 
moral but alluring project that thrills every fibre in our 
being with passionate desire. To this tempest of evil incli- 
nation there is opposed only the pale, uninteresting sense of 
duty ; and yet, little by little, conscience makes itself felt, and 
when the moment for decision comes, we gather ourselves 
together and, throwing the whole power of our will into the 
struggle, we throttle our passion and save unsullied our 
fidelity to the right. Experiences of this kind have time out 
of mind been the mainstay of defenders of the freedom of 
the will. Here, they say, is an obvious and undeniable case 
where the Will comes in to bring about action in the line 
of tl^ greatest resistance, instead of in the line of least 



428 PSYCHOLOGY 

resistance, as the mechanical philosophers insist must always 
occur. We must decline to enter upon the question of the 
freedom of the will, which metaphysics has preempted, but 
an analysis of the psychology of effort we may profitably 
undertake. 

Analysis of Effort. — Two antagonistic theories have been 
maintained about the feeling of effort in such a case as that 
of our last illustration. Certain psychologists have held that 
under such circumstances we are immediately and unmistak- 
ably aware of our own will. Others insist that accurate in- 
trospection discloses to us nothing peculiar to experiences of 
this character, beyond the consciousness of many sensations 
of muscular strain, which originate from the tense condition 
of the voluntary muscles, especially those connected with 
respiration. We must distinguish very sharply, in dealing 
with this disagreement, between the fact of volitional activity 
and its mental representative which informs us directly of 
this activity. Undoubtedly crises of the kind mentioned do 
involve volitional activities of the most basal character. Un- 
doubtedly, too, they do reflect in the most exact manner the 
real moral nature. But it does not follow from this that we 
are conscious of a conative element in consciousness akin, as 
an element, to sensation. The issue here is one of introspec- 
tive accuracy, and on the whole the evidence seems to favour 
the second of the two theories we have mentioned. Our con- 
sciousness of effort is a consciousness of the emotional kind, 
in which a very large group of sensations of muscular tension 
is present. Commonly, too, the affective tone of the experi- 
ence is distinctly unpleasant. 

Consciousness of Mental and Moral Effort an Emotional 
Experience. — If we call to mind what reactions we customa- 
rily exhibit under circimstances of the kind suggested by our 
illustrations, we find that our breathing is checked and 
spasmodic, our faces set, our brows contracted, our hands 
clenched, etc. All the muscular attitudes contribute their 



RELATION OF VOLITION TO EFFORT 429 

sensory increments to the total consciousness of the moment, 
and observation certainly shows that our sense of the effort 
involved in a moral decision runs essentially parallel with the 
intensity of these motor reactions. When the muscles are 
quiescent, we have no keen sense of effort ; when the feeling of 
effort is strong, the muscular tensions are always in evidence. 
We have asserted that the consciousness of effort, so far as it 
belongs to ethical decisions, appears when desires are opposed 
to ideals. We shall discuss the nature of desire in a moment, 
and we shall then discover confirmatory facts tending to bear 
out our contention that ordinarily the feeling of mental effort 
(disregarding the consciousness of fatigue) is itself essen- 
tially emotional. Its general nature can, therefore, be iden- 
tified with that of the other emotions which we have already 
discussed. It is a phenomenon connected with the mutual in- 
hibition of competing motor tendencies. Until the moment 
of decision has arrived, these impulses are dammed up in the 
organism itself, and we meet the consequences in the form of 
tense motor contractions. When the choice has been made, the 
inhibitions fade away and coordinated movements expressive 
of the decision are promptly executed. It has already been 
suggested that ultimately the utility of these muscular rigid- 
ities is to be found in the added stimulation which they fur- 
nish us, augmenting thus the weakening momentum of our 
onward moving selective activities. Their function would 
thus be found, like that of the accommodatory movements in 
attention, in their contribution to the amount of conscious 
activity available. 

After all, it must not be forgotten that however much our 
consciousness of effort may depend upon certain sensations 
of strain and tension, the psychical import of the feeling is 
essentially that which the most spiritualistic psychologists 
have assumed. Effort means conflict within the self, within 
consciousness; it means lack of harmony among our ideals 
and interests and aims ; it indicates imperfect systematisation 



43 o PSYCHOLOGY 

and coordination among the mental processes themselves. 
The act by which the dominant system of interests and ideas 
manifests its sovereignty and executes its behests is the 
^^fiat" of our last chapter. All this is perfectly compatible 
with our finding it distinguished by certain peripheral sen- 
sory conditions by means of which we come subjectively to 
know of it. 

Volition and Impulse. — Although we readily recognise and 
admit that the volitional processes in childhood are, in their 
origin, dependent upon native impulses, it is not so obvious 
that adult conduct is in the same manner bound up with im- 
pulse. Nevertheless, this is -the fact, as we shall now see. 
Indeed, the statement is often made that the development of 
volition is neither more nor less than a process of reducing 
our impulses to order, and that a mature character is simply 
one in which the impulses are thus subordinated to some 
systemMised principles. Instead, therefore, of the concep- 
tion that a developed will or character is one in which all 
primitive impulses have been extirpated or repressed, we have 
the conception of these impulses as continuously operative, 
but operative in a rational and coherent way, rather than in 
the chaotic fashion characterising childhood and infancy. 
This view is unquestionably correct in its general implica- 
tions, and an examination of the nature of desire will assist 
to exhibit the fact. 

Volition, Desire, and Aversion. — Large portions of our 
daily acts occur with a minimum of conscious supervision 
and volition. This fact we have had repeated occasion to 
emphasise, and we have found its explanation in the estab- 
lishment of complicated habits reflecting our customary 
routine. There is, however, a highly important residuum 
of acts in which our wills are most vividly enlisted. This 
group of acts appears whenever we step outside the beaten 
path of habit, or when habits are threatened with violation. 
The clerk who is tempted to cut his work in order to see a 



RELATION OF VOLITION TO DESIRE 431 

ball-game^, the young man who is considering an advanta- 
geous offer to change his occupation, the school-boy whose at- 
tention to his books is diverted by the alluring cries of his 
truant comrades, all three afford illustrations of the workings 
of desire. ISTow, if we pass in review the various things 
which we seriously wish for ourselves, we shall find that the 
vividness of the desire is proportional to the extent to which 
some one or more of our rudimentary impulses and emotions 
are enlisted. Objects which do not appeal to any of these 
primary instinctive reactions do not call forth intense desire. 
At most, we sporadically "wish" for such things. But the 
wishing is of a relatively cold-blooded, incidental kind, utterly 
distinct from the hot, passionate, craving which we feel for 
objects of the first class. Moreover, along with the desire, 
which is the positive aspect of the phenomenon, must be 
mentioned aversion, which is like desire in its emotional 
character, but which discloses to us the negative phase of the 
process. 

The experiences in which we are conscious of the definite 
yearning of desire, or the positive distaste of aversion, are, 
therefore, those which directly or indirectly call into activity 
such impulses as play, love, sympathy, grief, ambition, van- 
ity, pride, jealousy, envy, fear and hate. Without these or 
their congeners to colour the occasion we rarely meet with 
anything which we could justly call either desire or aversion. 
It hardly needs to be pointed out that in many cases desire 
and aversion involve several such emotional factors. Pride 
and love may thus be conjoined, sympathy and grief, fear and 
envy. 

Although the term desire is generally applied to the more 
intellectualised forms of craving, we must add to the list 
the so-called appetites. Bain has classified these as the ap- 
petites of hunger, thirst, sex, sleep, repose, and exercise. 
They are all immediately concerned with recurrent organic 
conditions, but they may readily be developed in such 



432 PSYCHOLOGY 

connections as to take on a relatively ideal character. Whether 
or no they come to occupy a place coordinate with the other 
forms of desire, depends upon the degree to which they 
chance to secure such an integral connection with our general 
intellectual life and character. 

Society has heen historically organised in large measure 
around the appetites of food and sex, and in consequence the 
institutions amid which we live and the ideas which come to 
us through them are coloured from beginning to end with 
influences of such origin. The family and the institution 
of property will together serve to suggest the innumerable 
ramifications of influence radiating from these two appetites 
in human life. 

Desire. — In its most overt and definite manifestations 
desire appears, therefore, to be a form of consciousness in 
which the blind impulsive character of a pure instinct is 
modified by a knowledge of the object which will satisfy the 
impulse. There is on this account, however, little or no 
lessening of the restless disposition or craving to express 
the impulse. Desire accordingly gains its power and vivacity 
from its impulsive nature; it gains its rationality from ex- 
perience. After our emotions and instincts have been once 
expressed, we know in the future what to expect of them. 
Desire is the conscious condition which represents this knowl- 
edge of what an emotional impulse means. It is the craving 
unrest for the object which we know will give us pleasurable 
satisfaction. To be sure we desire some things which we 
know will cause us pain, but in such cases it may be fairly 
questioned whether there is not always, save in occasional 
pathological cases of the insane type, more or less reference 
to some secondary or ulterior gratification. The tired mother 
insists on watching by the bedside of her sick child, even 
when others are ready to take her place and spare her the 
exhausting ordeal. 

Aversion. — Aversion, on the other hand, is the precisely 



RELATION OF VOLITION TO DESIRE 433 

polar condition in which again we realise the significance of 
the object which is mentally present to \\s, and recognise, on 
the basis of our experience, that the realisation of it will be 
disagreeable. We consequently draw back from it and strive 
to shun it. Paradoxical as it may seem, both desire and 
aversion are apt to be dominantly unpleasant; desire, be- 
cause of the temporary thwarting of inclination and impulse; 
aversion, either because of the drea.d of permanent thwarting 
of some one or more cherished and agreeable experiences, or 
because of some positive menace of pain. To be sure, there 
is often a certain exquisite delight in this discomfort of 
desire, as the poets have repeatedly recognised. 

Basal Nature of Desire in Formation of Character. — It 
should be evident from the foregoing discussion that desire 
occupies an extremely fundamental position in the develop- 
ment of will and the formation of character. In the first 
place, the actual psychical condition presented by desire af- 
fords us a striking instance of the great salient features of 
the mind with which all our previous study has been con- 
cerned. In it we find elaborate thought processes at work; 
we find conspicuous affective factors and we see the whole 
onward moving conative character of consciousness brought 
clearly to light. Moreover, it discloses to us an epitome of 
the character at any given moment. "What one really desires 
is the best possible index of the sort of character one really 
'Dossesses. 



CHAPTEE XXII 
CHAEACTER AND THE WILL 

Volition and Character. — Inasmuch as consciousness is a 
systematising, unifying activity, we find that with increasing 
maturity our impulses are commonly coordinated with one 
another more and more perfectly. We thus come to acquire 
definite and reliable habits of action. Our wills become 
formed. Such fixation of modes of willing constitutes char- 
acter. The really good man is not obliged to hesitate about 
stealing. His moral habits all impel him immediately and 
irrepressibly away from such actions. If he does hesitate, it 
is in order to be sure that the suggested act is stealing, not 
because his character is unstable. From one point of view 
the development of character is never complete, because ex- 
perience is constantly presenting new aspects of life to us, 
and in consequence of this fact we are always engaged in 
slight reconstructions of our modes of conduct and our atti- 
tudes toward life. But in a practical common-sense way most 
of our important habits of reaction become fixed at a fairly 
early and definite time in life. 

We noticed in chapter III that the general manner of 
speech, the mode of dressing, purely personal manners, etc., 
are commonly fixed before twenty-one. The general attitude 
toward moral and religious ideals is likely to be gained some- 
time during, or just after, adolescence. Professional habits 
come somewhat later. Speaking broadly, however, for the 
average individual the dominant tone of his habits, social, 
moral, aesthetic, and intellectual, is set by the time he is 
thirty. By this time the direction of his desires and his inter- 
ests is likely to be finally formed, and for the rest of his life 
he will but elaborate and refine upon this stock of tendencies. 



CHARACTER AND THE WILL 435 

When we recall the fact that habit depends ultimately 
upon the preservation of physical changes in neural tissues, 
we see how powerful an ally, or how frightful an enemy, 
one's habits may be. The man who has led a life of kindli- 
ness and sobriety not only has a fund of agreeable sentiments 
upon which his friends and neighbours can rely, he actually 
could not be mean and selfish and sordid without an hercu- 
lean effort, for his nervous system contains imbedded in its 
structures the tendency to altruistic deeds. 

Moral Development. — When we describe the development 
of character as a process in which our impulses become co- 
ordinated with one another, we have in mind a very specific 
course of events. Thus, for example, the little child in 
learning obedience to his parents may be engaged with the 
impulses of love, of fear, and of anger. We may suppose that 
the child has been forbidden to do something. This oc- 
casions disappointment and anger. Disobedience is threatened. 
The parents may appeal to the child's affection or to his 
fear of punishment in the effort to secure the desired action. 
The competing impulses must be ordered with reference to 
one another. Anger and obstinacy may carry the day, love 
may win, or fear may triumph. ISTow, whatever the actual 
outcome, the set given to character by the result is undoubted 
and will make itself manifest on the next occasion when 
obedience is at stake. 

At first sight it might seem as though in such a case as 
that of our illustration the question were not one of coordinat- 
ing two impulses, but rather of allowing one to suppress the 
other. This is the view which many good persons take of 
the whole course of moral education. But this theory is 
based on a fatal misapprehension of both the psychological 
facts and the ethical desirabilities of the situation. 

If one judged simply by external appearances, one might 
assume that when the child yielded to the appeal to his 
affection, the impulse of anger was wholly rooted out. This, 



436 PSYCHOLOGY 

however, is not strictly the fact. The impulse has met the 
obstruction of an opposing impulse, and the act which follows 
involves a coalescence of the two, an ordering of the two with 
reference to one another. Obedience given under such con- 
ditions is far more than the mere execution of certain muscu- 
lar movements. It is a mental process in which the self, with 
its capacities for anger and love and a thousand other emo- 
tions, gives expression to its innermost nature. The tend- 
ency to react with anger upon any thwarting of desire is a 
part of the make-up of the self. The disposition to show love 
and obedience to the parent is also an integral part of it. In 
giving obedience and yielding to the dictates of affection, the 
anger is not extirpated bodily, but it is transfigured. 

All seeming suppression of impulses will be found to be 
based upon the expression of other impulses, not upon sheer 
brute repression. To root out a bad impulse we must set 
some contrary impulse to work. Moreover, in a character 
built up in this way the control of the morally more danger- 
ous desires becomes a source of increased richness and power 
in life. Tennyson expressed this truth when he said 

"That men may rise on stepping stones 
Of their dead selves to higher things." 

Only one who has really suffered can truly sympathise with 
grief. Only one who has been really tempted and tried can 
be morally altogether reliable. 

The Will. — When we bring all our considerations together, 
it becomes obvious that the proposition from which we set 
out early in our work is true in a very wide and deep sense. 
Mind we have found to be, indeed, an engine for accom- 
plishing the most remarkable adjustments of the organism 
to its life conditions. We have seen how the various features 
of cognitive and affective consciousness contribute each its 
quota to the general efficiency of the reactions which the or- 
ganism is able to make upon its surroundings, physical and 
social. We have seen finally that in the will we have the 



CHARACTER AND THE WH^L 437 

culmination of all these activities of control. But it must 
have been observed that we have not found any specific mental 
element or event to which we could give the name will. 

No, the term will is simply a convenient appellation for the 
whole range of mental life viewed from the standpoint of its 
activity and control over movement. The whole mind active, 
this is the will. To say that there is no such thing as the 
will (a statement which troubles many right-minded per- 
sons) is simply the psychologist's perverse way of saying that 
mentally there is nothing hut will. There is no specific 
mental element to be called will, because all states of con- 
sciousness are in their entirety the will. 

We have seen this doctrine justified in the last two chap- 
ters, wherein we have discovered volition concerned with 
impulses, with pleasure and pain, with emotion, with ideas, 
Avith sensations, with memory, with reasoning, and with every > 
form and type of mental operation. We have observed the 
evolving control beginning with the mere mastery of move- 
ments, passing from this to more and more remote ends, for 
the attainment of which the previously mastered movements 
now available as habitual coordinations are employed, until 
finally we find the mind setting up for itself the ideas which 
we call ideals, and by means of these shaping the whole course 
of a lifetime. What these ideals shall be for any of us 
depends upon the operations of interest and desire, and these 
in turn depend in part upon the sort of tendencies which we 
have inherited, and in part upon the forces of our social and 
physical environment. We may prate as much as we please 
about the freedom of the will, no one of us is wholly free 
from the effects of these two great infiuences. Meantime, 
each one of us has all the freedom any brave, moral nature 
can wish, i. e., the freedom to do the best he can, firm in the 
belief that however puny his actual accomplishment there 
is no better than one's best. 

Training of the Will. — A deal of twaddle is sometimes 



43^ PSYCHOLOGY 

indulged in as to the training of the will. The will is spoken 
of as though it were a race-horse which once a day requires to 
be given its paces about the track. What is obviously in the 
minds of persons who discuss the question in this way is the 
wisdom of some form of moral calisthenics, e. g., self-denial, 
constructive and aggressive altruism, etc. Now, it is not 
necessary to enter into an extended argument upon this 
special recommendation, although it seems evident that apart 
from a deep moral interest in the thing done it could only 
produce moral prigs. If the moral interest is there, the 
artificial gymnastics will be superfluous. Life is rich in 
opportunities for larger and more intelligent kindliness. 
But disregarding this form of moral discipline, the develop- 
ment of volition evidently is not a thing to be hastened by 
any special form of exercise, because the will we have seen to 
be simply another name for the whole mental activity. Any 
purposeful intellectual occupation affords means of develop- 
ing certain features of control. Play develops certain other 
features. Art develops volitional processes in one direction, 
mathematics develops them in another. So far as a well- 
developed will consists in the ability voluntarily to direct 
one's attention effectively and for unlimited periods in defin- 
ite directions (and this certainly is a very basal conception), 
all thoughtful activity facilitates its attainment. 

Healthiness of "Will. — The well-trained man is the man 
whose mind is stored with a fund of varied knowledge which 
he can promptly command when the necessity for it arises; 
he is the man who can keep his attention upon the problem 
in hand as long as necessary, and in the face of distraction; 
he is, moreover, the man who, having paused long enough 
to see the situation correctly and to bring to bear upon it 
all the relevant knowledge he possesses, acts thereupon 
promptly and forcefully. Defects in any of these require- 
ments may defeat efficient action and proclaim the actor a 
person of feeble or defective character. 



CHARACTER AND THE WILL 439 

The ignorant person cannot act effectively when nice dis- 
crimination and wide knowledge are necessary, as they often 
are. Even the learned person ordinarily cannot go far, pro- 
vided his attention is wayward and fitful. His effort is too 
disconnected ever to accomplish large results. The person 
who is flighty and precipitate is either a genius or a fool — • 
commonly the latter. On the other hand, the hopelessly 
careful person, whose life is spent in a morass of doubt and 
indecision, balancing imponderable considerations and split- 
ting insignificant hairs — he, also, is likely to belong to the 
incompetents and inefficients. Evidently the attainment of 
a will which can fill all these requirements for the avoidance 
of pitfalls requires a training on every side of one's nature, 
requires a rich experience and a powerful dominant purpose 
running through it. All life offers such training, and our 
success in building up a strong, rich character depends much 
more on how we do our work than upon what worTc we do. 
There is no calling so humble that it may not afford scope for 
the expression and development of all the great human in- 
terests, if we really put ourselves into it, and not our mere 
labour. 



CHAPTEE XXIII 

THE SELF 

Before we can satisfactorily complete our sketch of the 
structure and function of consciousness, we must turn our 
attention to the facts of personality and selfhood. The 
normal human mind is never a mere string of states of con- 
sciousness. It is always a unitary affair in which the past, 
• the present, and even the future are felt to hang together in 
an intimate personal way. In our previous study we have 
been obliged to examine now one aspect of the mind and now 
another, but we have always emphasised this partial, piece- 
meal character of our method, and we must now attempt to 
trace in bolder outlines the contours of the whole, the salient 
features of the concrete, actual self. 

The Consciousness of Personal Identity. — Philosophers 
and psychologists have criticised with relentless vigour the 
tenability of our common-sense notions of personal identity. 
Undoubtedly the basis of this conviction which we all have 
that our self continues in some way the same from moment 
to moment is extremely precarious from a logical and meta- 
physical point of view. But from the strictly psychological 
standpoint, so far as concerns the structure and function of 
consciousness, personal identity is as real as memory or 
attention. However much our thoughts may vary from time 
to time, however much our opinions may alter, however much 
our characters may seem to be transformed as the years go 
by, we still feel that as a personality we are somehow 
imchanged. "We even feel that to be true, in some degree, 
of our bodies, which change conspicuously as the days of 



THE SELF 441 

childhood pass and the period of maturity and old age comes 
on. It is still my body, whether I am a child or an old man, 
and it has always been mine, and never for a moment capable 
of confusion with the body of any one else. 

When we try to discern the most important psychological 
contributors to this sense of identity, we discover two which 
are evidently of radical significance. The first of these is 
memory. Were we not able to identify among our various 
thoughts those which represent former experiences of our 
own, it is certain that any feeling of personal identity which 
we might have would differ fundamentally from that which 
we now possess. Undoubtedly that peculiar use of the idea- 
tional process which we call anticipation plays an important 
part in this connection. The second factor is a persistent 
background consciousness of our own organism. When the 
todily sensations and feelings are seriously deranged, we 
always experience a strange sense of uneasiness and distress 
which is often wholly out of proportion to any actual pain 
that we may be suffering. Our general sense of bodily exist- 
ence, then, gives a fairly constant tone to our consciousness, 
and thus furnishes a certain impression of sameness or con- 
tinuity. Beyond question there are other phases of con- 
sciousness which contribute their quota toward the same end. 
But these two are certainly preeminent. 

It is a remarkable fact that our sense of the identity and 
continuity of our own personality is essentially unaffected by 
the interruptions which occur in the onflowing of conscious- 
ness. In coma, as in sleep, consciousness may, so far as we 
can discover, be wholly suspended. Yet upon its return it 
once more claims its own from out of the past, and under such 
circumstances it ordinarily manifests no disturbance whatever 
of the sense of personal identity. 

Subject-Object Nature of Consciousness. — If we examine 
from a more critical and reflective point of view the implica- 
tions of consciousness for the concept of the self, we come 



442 PSYCHOLOGY 

upon certain suggestive facts. To be conscious of an object 
involves not only some mental presentation of the object, but 
also some subject to whom it is presented. Con — sciousness 
(knowledge over against something, for some one) has no 
other possible meaning than just this. Indeed, so irrefutable 
does this idea of consciousness appear to be, that it has but 
rarely been called in question, although many of the infer- 
ences which have been founded upon it have been severely, 
and often justly, attacked. 

This fact of the bipolar nature of consciousness has been 
the basis of many doctrines and has been designated by many 
different terms. Thus, James speaks of the self as 
"knower" and "known,^^ of the "I" and the ^^me." Kant 
recognises the empirical self and the pure Ego. There are 
advantages and disadvantages attaching to each of these 
terms, and there can hardly be said to be any accepted usage. 
The reader is, therefore, free to accept that which best pleases 
him. 

Meantime, it must be clear that all of our descriptions and 
analyses of the foregoing chapters have had primarily to do 
with the object half of consciousness, the content side of the 
mind. Perceptions, images, emotions — the things we are 
aware of — all belong to this objective phase of consciousness. 
To be sure, we could not apparently be aware of such experi- 
ences were it not for the subject phase of the mind. But 
once we have admitted the reality of this subject factor, 
we seem to have done all we can with it. It persistently 
avoids direct observation, because, forsooth, it is itself the 
observer. 

If we regard the self as characterised by these two indis- 
soluble aspects, and inquire what then becomes of personal 
identity, we have to admit at once that there can be no 
unchanging nature in the object side of consciousness. The 
contents of consciousness are constantly undergoing altera- 
tion, and we noticed in an earlier chapter that we probably 



THE SELF 443 

never have exactly the same thought twice. Identity of any 
thorough-going kind is thus out of the question here. Of 
the subject side of consciousness it seems impossible to predi- 
cate anything save its existence. Its function, to be sure, 
must apparently remain iixed. It must always be the Tcnower 
annealing the various elements of our experience into some 
sort of unity. But beyond this functional identity, which 
we can infer with some confidence, we have little evidence 
as to any of its possible attributes. Clearly, then, the personal 
identity in which common-sense believes rests on the evidence 
of some of the more unreflective and immediate influences 
such as we mentioned a few lines above. 

"We may remark in passing that this necessity for a subject 
of our states of consciousness has constituted one of the 
strongest rational considerations adducible in support of the 
belief in the soul. But it is to be said, on the other hand, 
that there are logically possible alternatives to this identifica- 
tion of the knower vrith the soul, so that we cannot def ensibly 
be dogmatic even here. 

Consciousness as Internal and External. — Before leaving 
this general topic one more distinction must be mentioned. 
The content, or "me," side of consciousness may be thought 
of in either of two ways. Thus, a perception of a cart may 
be thought of as external, in so far as it reports to me some- 
thing outside my mind. But in so far as the perception is 
my experience, it may be thought of as internal. It is some- 
times said, accordingly, that all consciousness viewed as 
external is essentially cognitive, knowledge-bringing; whereas, 
viewed as internal, it is feeling, se //-reflecting. But it should 
be evident at once that this distinction is by no means synony- 
mous with that between the subject and object aspects of 
mental life, as respectively the "loiower" and the "known." 

Development of the Consciousness of Self. — Despite the 
extensive study given of late to the subject of this section by 
Baldwin (to whom the author is indebted for certain views) 



444 PSYCHOLOGY 

and others, we cannot as yet be said to have any generally 
accepted theory, and the description which follows is offered 
tentatively as the author's present conception. 

It seems reasonably certain that the distinction which the 
chUd at an early age makes between his own personality and 
that of others is as completely submerged in the vague con- 
scious continuum of infancy as is the distinction between 
different sensations. When it begins definitely to differen- 
tiate, it seems not unlikely that the first step consists in 
remarking the difference which characterises the behaviour 
of persons and the behaviour of tilings. Things and persons 
thus get set over against one another. Things are relatively 
stable and fixed in their actions. Persons, on the other hand, 
are highly irregular and unpredictable. Of course, the 
child's consciousness of both things and persons is from the 
beginning his own private personal experience. But it may 
safely be asserted that there is no awareness of the self in a 
"self-conscious" way, until the vague apprehension is attained 
of other persons as distinct from things. 

As the child gradually attains control over his movements, 
things tend in certain particulars to obey his impulses in a 
more immediate way than do persons. They can be seen, 
reached, touched, and moved more confidently and more 
regularly than persons. On the other hand, they show them- 
selves altogether more imperturbable than persons to indirect 
modes of control. If the child cries, parent or nurse 
promptly responds. Things remain just where they were. 
Furthermore, persons show themselves able to furnish many 
comforting and agreeable experiences in the way of caresses, 
food, and clothing, which things of their own initiative rarely 
or never afford. The moment imitation becomes possible, 
persons offer the most satisfactory stimuli. What they do, 
can, by virtue of the similarity of structure in various organ- 
isms, often be approximated by the child. We might mention 
other distinctions, to which the child must respond, but these 



THE SELF 445 

will suiEce to suggest the lines along whicli the development 
takes place. 

When this resolution of the objective world into persons 
and things is once achieved, there is every reason to think 
that the precipitation of self-consciousness follows close at 
hand, if it be not, indeed, synchronous with it. The whole 
process must in the nature of the case be extremely inchoate 
and protoplasmic in character. Nevertheless, it must contain 
within it the essential elements for the more elaborate differ- 
entiations of adult life. Moreover, if this be in any way a 
true account of the genesis of self-consciousness, it is evident 
that such consciousness will, from the outset, be social in its 
constitution. The child remarks certain objects which behave 
in a manner altogether distinct from other objects. These 
he comes to recognise as individuals, which he later calls 
persons. Something like their independence of action he 
comes to feel in himself. He naturally identifies himself 
with them, and thus gives to his first dimly recognised con- 
sciousness of self the social hall-marJc. Needless to add, after 
what has gone before in this book, the actual content of his 
consciousness is always in larger or smaller measure social. 
The relations in which he finds himself are social. The 
criteria for the reality of many of the things which he is 
called upon to accept are social. Language is social. By 
imitation he is plunged at once into social usages, and did 
space permit, and were it necessary, we might trace out the 
whole gamut of social influences which bound his self-hood 
on every side. But our primary point here is that the first 
definite self-consciousness of the child is a consciousness in 
which he identifies himself in some sort with others, defines 
himself in terms of agreement or disagreement with others. 

The fact should be emphasised, however, that the element 
of disagreement is quite as important, both for the child and 
for society, as the element of agreement or imitation. Every 
individual is in some sense a variant from the human norm. 



446 PSYCHOLOGY 

and in so far he is a contributor to the richness of human 
life and achievement. This variation may take the form of 
trivial peculiarities of manner and speech, of inventions of a 
scientific and practical character, of reforms in morals or art; 
or it may be embodied in the harmless enthusiasms of a crank, 
or in the dangerous prepossessions of a lunatic. In each and 
every case the individual is making his addition to the store 
of social possessions. In finding that his consciousness of 
self necessitates his projecting himself against society, "we 
must not, then, for a moment suppose that this means that 
he merely imitates others, and so arrives at the knowledge of 
his own Ego. 

It is in the character of variant from the norm that the 
genius gets his paramount significance for the social organism. 
Society sometimes progresses by the slow accretion of incre- 
mMital changes originating from the conduct of large numbers 
of commonplace individuals. But the great changes which 
lend themselves to confident detection and identification are 
commonly traceable to the towering personality of some 
genius. 

The Content of the Consciousness of Self. — ^Doubtless 
in the earlier periods of childhood (after the consciousness 
of self as such has once become established) the actual content 
of such consciousness is largely personal and bodily — an 
awareness of impulses, of pleasures, pains, and the like. But 
as the mind develops and a broader appreciation is reached 
of the general integration of human life and the physical 
cosmos, this self-feeling spreads out to embrace larger and 
larger interests. The social factor unfolds into a vivid appre- 
hension of the picture of ourselves which we may imagine to 
be entertained by various persons and groups of persons. 
Furthermore, we come increasingly to read into the motives 
and characters of others the peculiarities which introspection 
reveals within ourselves. In a certain sense the vagueness 
which marks the beginning of self-feeling is never entirely 



THE SELF 447 

lost. We come to include in our practical conception of our- 
selves so many things which lie outside of us^ that the lines 
which separate the self from the not-self inevitably become 
hazy. Thus, our bodies, our clothing, our family, our friends, 
our fortune, our club, our church, our country — these, and 
a thousand similar things, get identified in a more or less 
intimate way with the self, which unfolds more and more to 
take in these widening interests. Meantime, there is always 
a residuum whose status is neither clearly within nor Avithout 
the self. 

The question may be raised whether a child growing up 
alone on a desert island would fail to develop self -conscious- 
ness because of his inability to follow the course of events 
which we have described, with its emphasis on the distin- 
guishing between persons and things, and its further empha- 
sis on the social nature of self-feeling. The reply — resting ' 
on speculative probability — is that undoubtedly something 
corresponding to self-consciousness might develop under such 
conditions through the operations of imagination. But the 
content of such a self-consciousness, and the order and 
nature of the steps in its unfolding, would certainly 
differ radically from anything with which we have per- 
sonal acquaintance. 

Ethical and Religious Aspects of the Self. — Although in 
a general way the consciousness of self is from the first 
social in its nature, it speedily takes on two explicitly social 
aspects, the moral and the religious, which warrant a few 
moments' consideration. Among the very earliest of our social 
experiences are those of praise and criticism, reward and 
punishment for our deeds. Parents, guardians, and asso- 
ciates of all kinds unite in thus furthering or hindering our 
enterprises. The vivid feeling for the distinction between 
right and wrong is thus aroused in us at a very tender age. 
As we come to have a definite consciousness of our own per- 
sonality, we inevitably tend to array ourselves for or against 



448 PSYCHOLOGY 

the usages which have been thus imposed upon us. We come 
to appreciate something of the grounds upon which they rest, 
something of the advantages and drawbacks which attend 
their observance. We take as regards these matters a definite 
conscious attitude toward society at large and our immediate 
associates in particular. We evolve a distinctly ethical self, 
recognising certain obligations on our own part toward our 
fellows^, and postulating a similar obligation for them in their 
treatment of us. 

As we grow older this conception of ourselves as moral 
persons with duties and obligations takes on a broader and 
more enlightened character. We extend our sense of respon- 
sible interest from our immediate family and acquaintances 
to our town, state, and country, and often (among the more 
humanitarianly minded of us) we manage in a fairly definite 
way to include the interests of all mankind. Coincident with 
this expansion in the range of our moral selfhood is often to 
be remarked a growth in the intelligence of our appreciation 
of the real ethical situation. We come to detect more justly 
and more sympathetically both the grounds of our neigh- 
bour's moral ideals and the reasons for his occasional moral 
lapses, and we may become in consequence more helpful to 
him, as well as more valuable in furthering the general cause 
of moral progress in the world. Our moral self thus expands 
both by intension and extension. 

The religious consciousness cannot ordinarily be severed 
altogether from the moral consciousness, yet the two mark 
quite distinct differences of stress which deserve separate 
treatment. The religious sentiments, in distinction from those 
of a merely moral sort, seem to involve a definite sense of 
personal relationship to a supreme, or at least superior, being. 
In the higher forms of religious faith this being is conceived 
as the incarnation of all holiness, righteousness, and truth. 
He is thus the one perfect companion for the highest ideal 
self, the one object worthy of complete reverence. Belief 



THE SELF 449 

in such a being constitutes the essence of the most developed 
forms of religious faith, and around such a belief cluster all 
the distinctly religious emotions, such as reverence, awe, love, 
gratitude, and the feeling of personal confidence which we call 
faith. 

The full mental vision of such a being, with an accom- 
panying sense of our own unworthiness, is often the imme- 
diate forerunner of the cataclysmic experiences characterising 
certain forms of conversion. The whole moral and religious 
perspective of life is suddenly altered. We see ourselves and 
others in a different light, and the world takes on a new form. 
The frequency with which this special phenomenon is 
encountered during adolescence, has led certain psychologists 
to connect the experience with the deep-seated physiological 
changes which mark that period. But, however much of 
truth there may be in this contention, — and undoubtedly 
there is much, — we must still recognise tbe fact that sudden 
conversion, profound and genuine reformation, is a thing 
met with at all ages and under the most various conditions. 

Types of Personality. — One of the most interesting tasks 
.which the psychology of the future will have to face is that 
of delineating the various typical forms in which personality 
reveals itself. But at present such descriptions cannot be more 
than rude impressions of individual observers. In history 
and literature a few of these great types have been recognised. 
We meet here the mystics, the poets and dreamers, the seers, 
some of them fiery, impulsive personalities, others gentle, 
ascetic souls, but all of them, with a gift for vision as against 
the prosaic processes of tedious reasoning, and with varying 
powers of adequate expression for their insight. Then there 
are the scientists and scholars with a religious conviction of 
the worth of plodding care and the paramount value of facts. 
Sometimes this trait is married to fervour and emotional ten- 
sion, sometimes it is embodied in cold calculating tempera- 
ment. Then we find the great leaders of men, the military and 



450 PSYCHOLOGY 

industrial geniuses who compel by sheer force of personality, 
by aggressive capacity of hand or brain; the religious leaders 
who succeed in awakening the spiritual devotion and confi- 
dence of men. The average man no doubt has in him some- 
thing of the various elements represented by all these great 
types, but they exercise a less imperious sway over him and 
are conjoined with capacities too weak and commonplace to 
stand out boldly from the mass of humanity. 

Disturbances of the Self. — The consciousness of self is 
subject to certain striking disturbances which merit a few 
words. These range all the way from transient illusions, 
which may affect us inappreciably, to insanity in which our 
personality is submerged and lost. The term ^^dissociation" 
is nowadays employed to cover practically all mental abnor- 
malities; and in so far as it tends to emphasise the fact that 
normally all mind activity is one of organisation and sys- 
tematisation, it is a felicitous term. Such dissociations may 
be primarily sensory (anesthesias), or ideational (hallucina- 
tions, delusions), or motor (automatisms). The phenomena 
of multiple personality, often known as alternating person- 
ality, are among the most interesting of these dissociations. 

A. Multiple Personality. — In the "successive" form of 
this disorder a person may suddenly lose his memory of his 
past life, forget his name, his home, and his friends, and 
start afresh with a new name, a new occupation, etc. Often 
his temperament and character change simultaneously with 
this loss of memory. Whereas originally he may have been 
honest, cheerful, and vigorous, he now shows himself unre- 
liable, pessimistic, and lazy. A few weeks or months later 
he suddenly reverts to his former personality and recovers 
all his memories of his earlier life, although he has no vestige 
of recollection as to the events which occurred during the 
period of his altered selfhood. Cases are on record where 
several characters have been assumed in this way, one after 
the other. 



THE SELF 451 

In the case of "simultaneous" personalities we have a more 
complex and much more ambiguous condition. Here there 
seems to be in addition to the normal consciousness which 
superintends the ordinary business of life, a sort of "split- 
off" consciousness, which is independent of the first and 
can be gotten at only in indirect ways. Moreover, as in 
the case of successive personalities, the temperament and 
character of these two selves are often very different. The 
one may be gentle and pious, the other riotous and profane. 
Sometimes this secondary self can be tapped by whispering 
to the patient while he is engaged in conversation with some 
one else, and then the responses may be written, apparently 
without any cognisance on the part of the normal conscious- 
ness of what has taken place. The memories of the two 
selves seem to be often distinct. Sometimes, as in alternat- 
ing personality of the successive type, the secondary self may 
know all about the primary self, without the converse appear- 
ing to be true. 

These quaint modifications of self-consciousness are diffi- 
cult to reconcile with many of our prepossessions as to per- 
sonality and the connection of mind and body. But they at 
least serve one purpose of positive value. They contain an 
impressive warning against our natural disposition to assume 
that our own personal type of self -consciousness is neces- 
sarily the only type. It should be remembered, too, that 
normal life contains occasional suggestions of the ease with 
which certain dissociative reactions may be set up. Many a 
man displays in the bosom of his family a self totally different 
from that known to his business associates, and each is con- 
sistently maintained. Evidently the consciousness of self is 
susceptible of mutations like other forms of consciousness, 
and no generalisation about it should be accepted without a 
survey of all the facts. For instance, the disintegrations of 
personality which are met with in the various forms of 
insanity must be taken into account. 



452 PSYCHOLOGY 

B. Mediumistic Trance and Hypnosis. — ^Less profound 
and less prolonged than the disturbances already mentioned 
are the changes in personality which characterise certain 
forms of trance. In the genuine cases of so-called medium- 
istic trance the medium becomes more or less oblivious to 
ordinary sense impressions, and often appears to be half 
unconscious. Under these circumstances he assumes the per- 
sonality of some other individual, usually some one who is 
dead, and his utterances purport to be expressions of the 
knowledge and the sentiments of the "control," as the person 
is called who ostensibly speaks through the medium. Many 
of these cases of mediumship have been carefully examined. 
Most of them have proved fraudulent. A few appear to be 
perfectly genuine, so far as concerns the psycho-physiological 
conditions manifested. But the interpretation of the 
phenomena is a matter upon which there exists the widest 
divergence of expert opinion. Most scientifically trained 
psychologists refuse to give these cases any serious considera- 
tion, beyond admitting the possibility of their presenting 
a genuine abnormality like insanity. A few insist that we 
have here fairly convincing evidence of relations among minds 
which transcend all our usual modes of communication with 
one another. 

In hypnotism, also, we may meet with cases of altered 
personality produced under the influence of suggestion. Hyp- 
notic sleep may be induced by -"talking sleep," i. e., telling 
the subject how it feels to fall asleep, by stroking the fore- 
head and head, by fixating a bright object held above the 
level of the eyes, and in general by any device which will 
focus attention firmly on the directions given by the operator. 
Those methods are best which, like the first mentioned, occasion 
least strain. Sometimes one method will succeed when the 
others fail. 

Changes in sensitivity (whether anaesthesias or hyper- 
sesthesias), in motor control, and memory are not especially 



THE SELF 453 

difficult to produce under hypnosis. The phlegmatic person 
may become choleric, the reserved person become flippant and 
rude, the irreligious become pious, etc. Commonly, if the 
hypnotic sleep has been deep, there is, upon awakening, little 
or no memory of what has occurred during the trance. But 
all the facts can usually be recalled during a subsequent 
hypnotisation. A curious phenomenon is that of post-hyp- 
notic suggestion. A person told to perform some action after 
awakening may have no recollection of the injunction upon 
arousing from the hypnotic slumber, but with few exceptions 
he will at the time designated faithfully execute the act. 
Facts of this kind have led to a good deal of need- 
less alarm as to the dangers of hypnotism. In point of fact 
it is practically impossible to force a person to do anything 
seriously offensive to his moral or aesthetic sense of the right 
and the decent. Moreover, persons of normal make-up can 
not be hypnotised against their wills — at all events not until 
the process has been performed so often as to become more or 
less habitual. A thing much more to be feared in our day 
is the auto-suggestion of a hypnotic character b}'' virtue of 
which mobs and great crowds give way to the wildest and 
most beastly excesses, as often occurs in lynchings. Although 
hypnotism undoubtedly has therapeutic value, it should not 
be indiscriminately cultivated by untrained persons. The 
same statement holds true only in less degree of "suggestion" 
used as a medical method without actual hypnotising. Of 
its value there can be no question, for it has been demonstrated 
repeatedly from the dawn of time to the present day, and every 
successful general practitioner inevitably makes more or less 
use of it. But it must be intelligently employed, otherwise 
it may prove harmful. 

C. Dreams and Sleep. — Dreams afford a familiar instance 
of disturbed personality. Sometimes this is manifested sim- 
ply in the ridiculous judgments which we pass upon dream 
situations, and the absurd sentiments which they call forth. 



454 PSYCHOLOGY 

Occasionally, however, we actually seem to have become some 
other person. Despite the frequent occurrence of dreams, 
no wholly satisfactory theory of their causes and conditions 
is yet at hand. Undoubtedly sensory stimulations, partly 
from the external senses, partly from the viscera and other 
intra-organic sources, are largely responsible for the beginning 
of dreams. Undoubtedly, also, the higher forms of systema- 
tised control, the "apperceptive activities" of many authors, 
are temporarily in abeyance. Although most of us would 
maintain that we often have dreamless sleep, it has been 
vigorously urged that we dream all the time during sleep, and 
that consciousness is consequently never altogether inter- 
rupted. Certainly it is true that we frequently forget our 
dreams with marvellous rapidity, and we ordinarily find that 
we are dreaming when awakened. But while these consid- 
erations afford a measure of presumptive evidence in favour 
of the hypothesis, they are not conclusive, and the weight of 
opinion unquestionably regards dreamless sleep as a frequent 
occurrence. 

Sleep itself is a most interesting condition about which 
we are still strangely ignorant. We know that normally sleep 
is deepest, as judged by the intensity of sound which will 
awaken one, during the first hour or two, the maximum being 
reached rapidly. After that there is a rapid decrease and then 
for the four or five hours ordinarily preceding awaking it 
remains practically stationary. We know that during sleep 
the anabolic nutritive processes of the body are very activeo 
It is a period of real repair of wastage. We know that we 
must have a certain amount of it regularly, if we are to enjoy 
normal effectiveness over a normal period of life. We know 
that nerve cells undergo exhaustion of their protoplasm dur- 
ing exercise and presumably this deficiency is restored during 
sleep. We know that there is normally less blood in the brain 
during sleep than at other times. But we know that certain 
of the nervous centres are independent of the necessity of 



THE SELF 455 

Bleep as eommonlj understood, i. e., respiratory centres. Cer- 
tain other physiological facts are known, but the exact mechsr- 
nism of sleep is still a matter of doubt and research. 

The Subconscious and the Unconscious. — Many striking 
and characteristic experiences are connected with regions of 
our personality which lie distinctly below the level of clear 
consciousness. Consciousness does not terminate with sharp 
edges which mark it off definitely and finally from the non- 
conscious. On the contrary, as was maintained early in our 
work, there is a gradual fading out from a focal centre of 
clearest consciousness toward a dimmer region of partial con- 
sciousness, which we may designate the zone of the subcon- 
scious. This subconscious area again gives way to a region 
of entire non-consciousness. 

To the activity of the subconscious we are probably 
indebted for many of our unreasoned impressions and senti- 
ments, for many of our unexpected ideas, for certain of our 
unreflective movements, especially those of the habitual 
variety. Not a few of our personal preferences and preju- 
dices are probably referable to influences originating here. 
Such phenomena as those of automatic writing with the plan- 
chette, where persons may write considerable numbers of 
words without any clear idea of what is being written, belong 
to the border-line of influences lying between the subconscious 
and the unconscious. Taken all in all, subconscious factors 
must go to make up a very respectable portion of our total 
personality, and no doubt are accountable for many of the 
characteristics which sometimes cause us to wonder at our- 
selves and question whether or no we really have the kind 
of character we supposed. 

There are many alleged facts in the realm of telepathy, 
clairvoyance and mediumistic trance which have led 
psychologists of repute to hold that our conscious minds are 
subconsciously in touch with psychic influences belonging to 
a far wider order than common sense ever suspects. This is 



4S6 PSYCHOLOGY 

hardly the "scientifically" accepted view. Indeed, the rank 
and file of experimentalists at least would probably reject all 
evidence emanating from such sources as presumptively insus- 
ceptible of scientific treatment and therefore as irrelevant to 
the science of psychology. Nevertheless, it must be admitted 
that of late years much serious effort has been devoted to 
applying experimental methods in this field and it may be 
that full success will finally attend these attempts. 

The unconscious has been made in recent years the great 
panacea for all psychological and philosophical difficulties. 
Whatever one cannot explain otherwise may be explained by 
the action of the unconscious. The asserted facts of telep- 
athy, clairvoyance, crystal-gazing, shell-hearing, hypnotism, 
and all the phenomena of spiritualism, not less than the 
metaphysical perplexities of personality, mind, matter, and 
their interrelations, have been treated by the universal elixir 
of the unconscious. Needless to say, our modest business at 
this point is with no such majestic influence as all this 
suggests. The term unconscious has two proper uses in 
psychology. It is, first, a limiting concept set over against 
consciousness of every kind; whatever is not conscious is 
unconscious. Evidently this use of the term is largely nega- 
tive in its implication. As a positive concept the unconscious 
is, in the second place, practically synonymous with the physio- 
logical. Thus, to say that an unconscious factor entered in 
to determine certain of the movements of our voluntary 
muscles is simply to afiirm that certain neural activities, 
whose obvious counterparts we cannot detect in consciousness, 
have contributed to the total mass of motor excitations. In 
this sense the unconscious ceases to be a sheer enigma, and 
becomes a more or less convenient term wherewith to desig- 
nate those marginal neural actions which evidently modify 
the reactions we make, without, however, producing notice- 
able mental changes. 

Summary. — If we take stock of the various points which 



THE SELF 457 

we have canvassed in this chapter, we see that although the 
self undoubtedly manifests tendencies toward the systematic 
unification of its own experiences, it is far from being a sim- 
ple unity. It is highly complex in constitution, and in many 
particulars highly unstable. It is distinctly and character- 
istically a life phenomenon, with periods of growth and 
expansion, periods of maturity, and periods of decay and 
disintegration. But after all, the consciousness of selfhood 
is the very core of our psychical being. About it are gathered 
all the joys and all the miseries of life. However much a 
critical philosophy may shake our confidence in its implica- 
tion, the fact of its existence is for each of us the one abso- 
lutely indubitable fact. 



COLLATERAL READINGS FOR STUDENTS. 

The literature cited under section I is in the case of each chapter 
of an elementary character and it is intended to introduce the begin- 
ning student to materials and points of view somewhat different 
from those presented in this text. The references under section 
II are mainly to works of a more exhaustive character. 

No attempt is made to add to the list of general bibliographies, 
of which a number are already available. Students desiring to 
work intensively upon some special subject should consult the top- 
ical bibliographies published annually in the Psychological Index, 
issued by The Psychological Review. 

The titles below refer only to books in English. Advanced work, 
however, requires the constant use of the modern languages, 
especially French and German. The reports of many of the best 
investigations appear in these languages, which should consequently 
be mastered at once by students planning to specialize in psychology. 

Chapter I, Pkoblems and Methods of Psychology. 

I. Wundt, Outlines of Psychology, Introduction, Sections 1-4. 
Royce, Outlines of Psychology, Chapter I. 

Calkins, Introduction to Psychology, Chapter I. 
Sully, the Human Mind, Vol. I, Chapter II. 

II. James, Principles of Psychology, Vol. I, Chapters I, VI, VII. 
Ladd, Psychology, Descriptive and Explanatory, Chapters I, II. 
Stout, Manual of Psychology, Chapters I and II. 

Analytic Psychology, Vol. I, Chapter I. 

Chapter II, The Psychophysical Organism and the Nervous 
System. 

I. James, Psychology, Briefer Course, Chapters VII-IX. 
Judd, Psychology, Chapters II and III. 

Thorndike, Elements of Psychology, Chapters IX-XI. . . , 

II. Wundt, Principles of Physiological Psychology, Vol. I, Part I.* 
Howell, Text-Book of Physiology, Chapters VI-XIII. 

Loeb, Physiology of the Brain. 

Donaldson, Growth of the Brain. 

Whitaker, Anatomy of the Brain and Spinal Cord. 

*The remaining parts of the translation of this great work have 
not yet appeared, but may be expected shortly and should be con- 
Bulted on practically all the points treated in this text. 



460 COLLATERAL READINGS 

Chapter III, Mind, Neural Action and Habit. 

I. James, Psychology, Briefer Course, Chapter X. 
Royce, Outlines of Psychology, Chapters III and VIII. 
Morgan, Introduction to Comparative Psychology, Chapter XI. 

II. Baldwin, Mental Development, Methods and Processes (Third 

Edition), Part II, Chapters VII-IX. 

Chapter IV, Attention, Association and Disceiminatioit. 

I. Attention : 

Titchener, Outlines of Psychology, Chapter VI. 
WUndt, Outlines of Psychology, Part III, Section 15. 
Sully, The Human Mind, Vol. I, Chapter VI. 
Calkins, Introduction to Psychology, Appendix VI. 
Discrimination : 

James, Psychology, Briefer Course, Chapter XV. 
Royce, Outlines of Psychology, Chapter XI. 

For references to association see Chapter VIII. 

II. Ribot, Psychology of Attention. 

Ladd, Psychology, Descriptive and Explanatory, Chapter V. 
Stout, Analytic Psychology, Vol. I, Division II, Chapters 
II and III. 

Chapter V, Sensation. 

I. Titchener, Outlines of Psychology, Chapters II-IV. 

Calkins, Introduction to Psychology, Chapters II-VIII; Appen- 
dix, Sections 3-5. 
McKendrick & Snodgrass, Physiology of the Senses. 

II. James, Principles of Psychology, Vol. II, Chapter XVII. 
Stout, Manual of Psychology, Book II. 

Ladd, Psychology, Descriptive and Explanatory, Chapters 
VI-VIII. 

Chapter VI, Perception. 

r. See references under Chapter VII. 

II. Stout, Manual of Psychology, Book III, Division II, Chapter I. 
Ladd, Psychology, Descriptive and Explanatory, Chapters 
XV-XVI. 

Chapter VII, Perception of Spatial and Temporal Relations. 

I. Titchener, Outlines of Psychology, Part III, Chapter VII. 

Sully, The Human Mind, Vol. I, Chapter VIII. 

Wundt, Outlines of Psychology, Part II, Sections 10 and 11. 

Judd, Psychology, Pages 131-171. 

James, Psychology, Briefer Course, Chapter XXI. 
tl. James, Principles of Psychology, Vol. II, Chapter XX. 

Stout, Manual of Psychology, Book III, Division II. 

Ladd, Psychology, Descriptive and Explanatory, Chapters VIII 
and XXL 



COLLATERAL READINGS 461 

Chaptee VIII, Imagination. 

I. Titchener, Outlines of Psychology, Chapter VIII. 

Wundt, Outlines of Psychology, Part III, Sectons 16-A, B, D, 

13. 
Baldwin, Senses and Intellect, Chapter XI. 
Royce, Outlines of Psychology, Chapter VIII. 
Calkins, Introduction to Psychology, Chapter XV. 

II. James, Principles of Psychology, Vol. I, Chapter XIV. 

Ladd, Psychology, Descriptive and Explanatory, Chapter XIII. 
Stout, Manual of Psychology, Book IV, Chapter II. 

Chaptek IX, Memoby. 

I. Titchener, Outlines of Psychology, Chapter XI. 

Wundt, Outlines of Psychology, Part III, Section 16-D, b. 
Baldwin, Senses and Intellect, Chapter IX. 

II. James, Principles of Psychology, Vol. I, Chapter XVI. 

Ladd, Psychology, Descriptive and Explanatory, Chapter XVII. 
Ribot, Diseases of Memory. 

Chapteh X, Consciousness of Meaning and the Fobmation of 

Concepts. 

L Sully, The Human Mind, Vol. I, Chapter XI. 

Dewey, Psychology, Part I, Chapter VIII, Section 12. 

Calkins, Introduction to Psychology, Chapter XVII. 

Titchener, Outlines of Psychology, Chapter XII, Section 83. 

Judd, Psychology, Chapter X. 
II. Stout, Analytic Psychology, Vol. II, Chapter IX; Manual of 
Psychology, Book IV, Chapter IV and V, 

James, Principles of Psychology, Vol. I, Chapter XIII. 

Ladd, Psychology, Descriptive and Explanatory, Chapter XIX. 

Chaptees XI AND XII, Judgment and Reasoning. 

I. Baldwin, Senses and Intellect, Chapters XIV- XV. 
Dewey, Psychology, Part I, Chapter VIII, Sections 3-5. 
Royce, Outlines of Psychology, Chapter XII. 
Calkins, Introduction to Psychology, Chapter XVIII. 

II. James, Principles of Psychology, Chapter XXII. 

Ladd, Psychology, Descriptive and Explanatory, Chapter XX. 
Morgan Introduction to Comparative Psychology, Chapter 
XIII-XVI. 

Chaptees XIII and XIV, Feeling and Affective Consciousness. 

I. Titchener, Outlines of Psychology, Chapters V and IX. 
Wundt, Outlines of Psychology, Part I, Section 7; Part II, 

Section 12. 
Royce, Outlines of Psychology, Chapter VII. 
Calkins, Introduction to Psychology, Chapters IX and X. 
Sully, The Human Mind, Vol. II, Appendix I. 

II. Marshall, Pain, Pleasure and Esthetics. 
Stanley, Evolution of Feeling. 



462 COLLATERAL READINGS 

Dewey, Psychology, Part II. 

Stout, Manual of Psychology, Book II, Chapter VII; Book lU, 

Chapter III; Book IV, Chapter IX. 
Analytic Psychology, Vol. II, Chapter XII. 

Chapters XV, XVI, akd XVII, Reflex Action, Impulse ahd 
Instinct. 

I. James, Psychology, Briefer Course, Chapter XXV. 
Royce, Outlines of Psychology, Chapter XIII. 

Morgan, Introduction to Comparative Psychology, Chapter XII. 

II. Baldwin, Development and Evolution, Part II, Chapters IV- VI. 
Morgan, Animal Life and Intelligence, Chapter XI. 

James, Principles of Psychology, Vol. II, Chapter XXIV. 
Ladd, Psychology, Descriptive and Explanatory, Chapter XXV. 

Chaptees XVIII AND XIX, Emotion. 

I. James, Psychology, Briefer Course, Chapter XXIV. 
Royce, Outlines of Psychology, Chapter XIV. 
Titchener, Outlines of Psychology, Chapters IX and XIII. 
Calkins, Introduction to Psychology, Chapter XX. 
Stout, Groundwork of Psychology, Chapters XV-XVII. 

II. Ribot, Psychology of the Emotions. 

Bain, Emotions and Will, Section on Emotions. 
Stout, Manual of Psychology, Book III, Chapter IV. 
Ladd, Psychology, Descriptive and Explanatory, Chapters 
XXIII and XXIV. 
Chapters XX, XXI, XXII, Volition, Interest and Desire. 

I. James, Psychology, Briefer Course, Chapter XXVI. 
Hoffding, Psychology, Chapter VII. 

Royce, Outlines of Psychology, Chapter XV. 

Titchener, Outlines of Psychology, Chapters VI and XIV. 

Sully, The Human Mind, Vol. II, Chapters XVII-XVIII. 

II. James, Principles of Psychology, Vol. II, Chapter XXVI. 
Ladd, Psychology, Descriptive and Explanatory, Chapter XXVI. 
Bain, Emotions and Will, Section on Will. 

Dewey, Psychology, Part III. 
Chapter XXIII, Self and the Abnormalities of Conscioitsness. 

I. James, Psychology, Briefer Course, Chapters XI and XII. 
Calkins, Introduction to Psychology, Chapters XXII, XXIII, 

XXVII. 
Sully, The Human Mind, Vol. II, Chapter XIX. 
Jastrow, Fact and Fable in Psychology. 

II. James, Principles of Psychology, Vol. I, Chapters IX and X. 
Baldwin, Mental Development, Social and Ethical Interpreta- 
tions. 

Cooley, Human Nature and the Social Order. 

Moll, Hypnotism. 

Binet, Alterations of Personality. 

Prince, The Dissociation of a Personality. 

Jastrow, The Subconscious. 



INDEX 



Abnormal, consciousness, 450^./ 
psychology, 3. 

Abstract ideas, 259. 

Abstraction, 258. 

Accommodation, motor, in at- 
tention, 99; of lens, 141. 

Acquisitiveness, 355. 

Action, muscular, varieties of, 
60, 334f. 

Esthetic feelings, 317, 328^., 
394. 

Affection, as elementary phase 
of feeling, 303. 

After-images, 134. 

After-sensations, see after- 
images. 

Agreeableness as affection, 303^. 

Alimentary sensations, see sen- 
sations, organic. 

Alternating personality, 450^". 

Altruistic emotions, 348. 

Amoeba, 23. 

Analysis, sensory and intellec- 
tual, 103f. 

Anger, 299, 320. 

Annelids, nervous system of, 
24-25. 

Animals, reasoning of, 297ff. 

Aphasia, auditory, motor and 
visual, 48^. 

Apperception, 157. 

Appetites, 431. 

Aristotle's illusion, 162. 

Association, simultaneous, 107; 
successive, 108, 206/f.; cere- 
bral basis of, 207 ; by contigu- 
ity, 211/f. ; by cause and effect, 
21 If.; by similarity, 212/., 
by contrast, 213; desistent and 
persistent, 210. 

Association centres in cortex, 46/=. 



Attention, and adaptation of 
sense organ, 99^./ change nec- 
essary to, 92;^.; and field of 
consciousness, 80j^.; motor fac- 
tors in, 99/f.; relation to 
interest, 4:19 ff.; attention and 
will, 402;^.; varieties of, 84^./ 
involuntary, 87 f.; non- volun- 
tary or spontaneous, 85^.; 
voluntary, 85; simultaneous to 
different object, 96^.; select- 
ive character of, 83/./ as 
mental activity, 82. 

Audition, see hearing. 

Auditory centre, 42. 

Auditory image, 199/. 

Auditory ossicles, fig. 43. 

Automatic acts, 60/., 334. 

Automatic writing, 455. 

Autonomic system, 56^. 

Axis cylinder, 20, jfig. 4. 

Axone, 19^., figs. 1-3. 

BAIN, 322, 431. 

BALDWIN, 81, 343, 415/., 443., 

Belief, 394. 

BERKELEY, 184. 

Biology and psychology, 9. 

Black, see colour. 

Blind-spot, 148, fig. 48. 

Bodily expression and emotion 
370^., 388. 

Brain, structure and functions 
of and connection with con- 
sciousness, 25-59. 

Brightness sensations, 131^. 

CALKINS, 210. 

Calmness, as affective element, 

304^. 
Canals, semicircular 119, 131, 

fig. 44. 



463 



464 



INDEX 



Cell-body, 17ff. 

Cerebral laws and association, 
2Q7f. 

Cerebrum, 39^. 

Cerebellum, 39. 

Change in consciousness, 92^. 

Character, Chapter XXII. 

Child psychology, 3. 

Chromsesthesia, 244. 

Choice, see volition. 

Circulatory sensations, see sen- 
sations organic. 

CLAY, 191. 

Clearness in attention, 81^. 

Coalescence of sensations, 156. 

Cochlea, figs. 41, 42, 43, 44. 

Cognition, see Chapters V. to 
XII. inclusive. 

Cold, -sensations of, 111^./ neural 
basis of, 114^. 

Colligation, 107. 

Colour blindness, normal per- 
ipheral, 136; abnormal, 136. 

Colour, complementaries and 
mixtures, 133 ff.; contrast, 
135/.; sensations of, 131/f.; 
theories of, lilff- 

Comparative psychology, 4. 

Comparison, process of, 259, 
264. 

Complex tone, 125. 

Conation and attention, 82; and 
will, 409. 

Concept, nature of, 250, 252/f.; 
257-260; and image, 251^.; 
function of, 260; change and 
growth of, 263^.; and meaning, 
245, and judgment, 270^. 

Conscience, feeling of, 393. 

Consciousness, appearance of, 
63ff.; definition of, 1; relation 
of to the nervous system. 
Chapter III.; motor aspects 
of 334, 405. 

Contiguity, association by, 211/f. 

Contrast in colour, 135 f.; in 
association, 21 If. 

Convergence of eyes, 140. 

Coordinal,ions, primary, 60^. ; 
334^.; 346^.; establishment 
of control over, 62^.; Chap- 
ter XX. 



COPE, 343. 

Corpora quadrigemina,, 26, 37, 
fig. 14. 

Corpus callosum, 47, figs. 24, 
. 25. 

Cortex, cerebral, 39-55, figs. 19- 
29. 

Corti, organ of, figs. 41, 42. 

Curiosity, 354. 

Currents in nerves, see nerre 
currents. 

Cutaneous sensations, see sen- 
sations. 

DARWIN, 382. 

Deaf-mutes, 262. 

Deduction, 284, 287. 

Dendrite, 20, figs. 1, 2, 3. 

Desire, analysis of, and re- 
lation to volition, 430^. 

DEWEY, 382. 

Difference, apprehension of, 105. 

Difference limen, see Weber's 
law. 

Diffusion, law of, 67. 

Disagreeableness as affection, 
303^. 

Discrimination, as analytic at- 
tention, 103^.; relation to as- 
sociation, 108. 

Dispersed attention, 98. 

Dissociation, see discrimina- 
tion. 

Distance, perception of, 184^. 

Dizziness, and relation to semi- 
circular canals, 119. 

Double personality, see alter- 
nating personality. 

Dreams, 453/. 

Dura mater, 25. 

Duration, perception of, 190^./ 
of attention, 92^./ of sensa- 
tions, 147; of sensations in re- 
lation to feelings, 306/. 



Ear, figs, 41-44. 

Earthworm, nervous system of, 

fig. 8. 
EBBINGHAUS, 29. 
Effort, feeling of, 427^. 
Ego, see self. 



INDEX 465 



Embarrassment, 376. 

Emotion, Chapters XVIII., 
XIX.; bodily factors in, 370/f.; 
origin of, 381^.; relation to 
instincts, 380. 

Emulation, see rivalry. 

End-organs, 110-144. 

Envy, 357. 

Epistemology, 11. 

Ethical feelings, 317, 393. 

Eustachian tube, 128, fig. 43. 

Excess discharge, law of, 67, 405. 

Excitement, as effective ele- 
ment, 304. 

Experimental psychology, 6. 

Extensity, in sensation, 147; in 
space perception, 173. 



Faith, 449. 

Familiarity, sense of, 225/f.; 235. 

Fetar, 350, 375. 

Feeling, Chapter XIII. and 
XIV.; elements of, 303; 
classifications of, 316; rela- 
tion to emotion, 393. 

Folk psychology, 4. 

Fovea, 144, figs. 47, 48. 

FRANKLIN", 138, 144. 

Freedom of will, 437. 

FREY, von, 113. 

Fusion, 98, 107. 



General idea, 250. 
Generic idea, 253. 
Genetic psychology, 4f. 
Genius, and association, 212. 
GORDON, 102. 

Grey, sensations of, see bright- 
ness. 
Grief, 376, 
GROOS, 359. 
Gustatory sensations, see taste. 



Habit, formation of, 66^.; re- 
sults of, 73; ethical signifi- 
cance of, 77 ; relation to voli- 
tion, 75; in thought, 76. 

Hallucinations, 166. 

Hatred, 351. 

HEAD, 115. 



Hearing, sensations' of, 124;^.; 
cortical centre for, 42; end- 
organ of, 12,7 ff.; figs. 41-44. 

HELMHOLTZ, 130, 137, 329. 

Hemianopsia, 48, fig. 23. 

Hemispheres, connection with 
volition and memory, 48-51; 
structure of, S9ff. 

HERING, 137. 

Horopter, 183. 

Hunger sensations, 118, 431. 

Hypnotic states, 452. 

Ideas, connection with images, 
201; and concepts, 250; mo- 
tor, 409. 

Identity, personal, 440. 

Illusion, IQlff. 

Images, distinction from sen- 
sation and perception, 152, 
198; types of, 200; function 
of, 214; relation to idea 201; 
to volition, 408^. 

Imagination, Chapter VIII. 

Imitation, as instinctive, 360; 
as volitional, 416. 

Impulse, Chapter XVII. 

Inattention, 98. 

Induction, 285. 

Inhibition, and volition, 69. 

Instinct, Chapters XV. to 
XVII. inclusive; origin of, 
343; value of, 345; relation 
to emotion, 369; variability 
of, 340; human. Chapter 
XVI. 

Intellectual feeling, 316. 

Intensity of sensation, 145; re- 
lation to affective conscious- 
ness, 307; and Weber's law, 
146. 

Interest, nature of, 420; rela- 
tion to attention, 422; to 
volition, 420-426. 

Introspection, 5. 

Itching, 112, 318. 



JAMES, 82, 150, 173, 207, 223, 
248, 349, 369, 370, 371, 382, 
402. 

JANET, 234. 



466 INDEX 

Jealousy, 357. 

Judgment, analysis and forma 
of, 269; relation to concep- 
tion, 270; to reasoning, 279; 
genesis of, 273^, 



Kinsesthetic, sensation, 116/.; 
image, 199; function in es- 
tablishment of mrotor control, 
401, 410. 

Knowledge, development of, 
264, 273; theory of, 11. 

Labyrinth, figs. 43, 44. 

LANGE, 371, 382. 

Lapsed intelligence, theory of, 

343. 
Laughter, significance of, 388. 
Limen, 146. 

Local sign, nature of, 179, 181. 
Localisation, of functions in the 

hemispheres, 41/f. 
LOTZE, 179. 
Love, 358. 

MARSHALL, 319. 

Meaning, apprehension of, 245^. 

Mediums, 452. 

Medullary sheath, 21, fig. 4. 

Medulla oblongata, 26, 37/".; figs. 
10, 12, 13, 14. 

Memory, Chapter IX., aifect- 
ive, 312; analysis of, 223^.; 
defects of, 232^.; and for- 
getting, 230; physical basis 
of, 224; distinction between 
memory and imagination, 222; 
relation to recognition, 225/f./ 
improvement of, 237^.; idio- 
syncrasies of, 243. 

Mental activity, see attention 
and effort. 

Mental blindness, see aphasia, 
visual. 

Metaphysics, 10. 

Mind, meaning of the word, 2. 

Modesty, 349. 

Molluscs, nervous system of, 24, 
fig. 9. 

Mood, 390, 



Morbid, psychology, see abnormal 
psychology. 

Motion, sensations of, images 
of, see kinsesthetic. 

Motor aphasia, 49. 

Motor region of cortex, 45^. 

MUENSTERBERG, 319. 

Multiple personality, 450^. 

Muscular sensations, see kin- 
sesthetic. 

Nerve-currents, nature of, and 
rate of conduction, 23. 

Nerve-endings, see end-organs. 

Nerves, structure of, 17^.; 
functions of, 16. 

Nervous system, central, 25^.; 
autonomic, 56^. 

Neurilemma, 21, fig. 4. 

Neuroglia, 22. 

Neurone, definition of, 17^. 

Neurones peripheral, ^\f.; corti- 
cal, 39; subcortical, 32. 

Noise, 124. 

Object, perception of, 97, 149, 

151; fixation of attention and 

change of, 92/f. 
Occipital cortex and vision, 42. 
Odour, see smell. 
Olfactory end-organ, l^'iff.; figs. 

39, 40. 
Olfactory region of cortex, 42. 
Optic end-organ, see retina. 
Organic selection, theory of, 

344. 
Organic sensations, 117 f.; neural 

basis of, 119. 
Otoliths, 131. 
Overtones, 125. 

Pain, as sensation, 111^.; 118; 
its relation to aft'ection, 305. 

Partial tone, 125. 

Passion, 391. 

Passive consciousness, 91. 

Peckhams, 342. 

Perception, Chapter VI.; and 
sensation, I50f.; and idea- 
tional activities, 151^., 198; 
neural basis of, 168; of space 
and time, Chapter VII. 



Personal identity, see identity. 

Philosophy and psychology, 10. 

Physiological psychology, 7. 

Pia mater, 25. 

Pitch, 124^. 

Play, 358/f;. 

Pleasure, as alfective element, 
303. 

Present, the specious, 191. 

Pressure sensations of, see 
touch. 

Productive imagination, 203 ; 
relation to reproductive im- 
agination, 204. 

Psychical dispositions, 230. 

Psychology, definition of, 1 
methods of, 5; fields of, 3 
relation to philosophy, 10 
to the natural sciences, 9; to 
education, 11. 

Psychophysics, 7. 

Purkinje phenomenon, 132, 144. 

Quality, of sensations. 111 ft- J 
consciousness of, as sensa- 
tion, 149, 151. 

Race psychology, 4. 

Reasoning, Chapters XI., XII.; 
elements of, 268; forms of. 
Chapter XII.; in brutes, 297^. 

Recognition, sensory, 226; idea- 
tional, 227 ; relation to mem- 
ory, 225. 

Reflex action, definition of, 
337 ; relation to instincts, 
339; variability of, 337. 

Relations, between objects, feel- 
ings of, 247f. 

Relativity of knowledge, 265. 

Relaxation, as affective ele- 
ment, 304. 

Religious feeling, 317, 447. 

Representation, general nature 
of, 196. 

Reproductive imagination, 202 ; 
relation to productive imagi- 
nation, 204. 

Resistance, consciousness of, 
112. 

Respiratory sensations, see sen- 
sations, organic. 



INDEX 467 

Retention of material in mem- 
ory, 230, 237. 

Retina, 142^., figs. 47-49 

RIBOT, 348. 

Rivalry, 356. 

RIVERS, 115. 

Rhythm, of attention, 93; in 
judgments of time, 191.; in 
esthetic feelings, 330, 332. 

ROYCE, 304. 



Sameness, feeling of, as ele- 
ment in apprehension of 
meaning, 105, 246/". 

Satisfaction, feeling of, 386. 

Selection, in attention, 83. 

Self, Chapter XXIII.; develop- 
ment of consciousness of, 443; 
disturbance of, 450; ethical 
and religious aspects of the, 
447; identity of the, 440; 
social nature of, 444/f. 

Semicircular canals, 119, 131, 
figs. 43, 44. 

Sensation, Chapter V.; and per- 
ception, 149^.; functions of, 
148; intensity of, 145; dura- 
tion of, and extensity in, 147; 
common characteristics, 145. 

Sensations, of sovmd, 124^.; of 
sight, 131^.; of smell, 121; 
of taste, 119; of temperature 
and touch. 111 ff.; organic, 117; 
of movement, 116. 

Sense organs, structure of, 114/f. 

Sensory centres in cortex, 41^.; 
figs. 13, 19-21. 

Sentiment, 392. 

SHERREN,- 115. 

Shyness, 352. 

Sight, see vision. 

Similarity, association by, 211. 

Simple tone, 125. 

Size, apparent of objects, 187. 

Skin-senses, see sensations. 

Smell, sensations of, 121; end- 
organ, 122, fig. 39, 40; corti- 
cal basis, 42. 

Sociability, 352. 

Social feeling, 317, 444^. 

Social psychology, 4, 



468 INDEX 

Soul, in psychology, 2; relation 
to the self, 443. 

Space, see perception of space. 

Span, or scope, of conscious- 
ness, 96. 

Speech, centres of, in cortex, 
48^.; fig. 26; as instinctive, 
360. 

SPENCER, 343, 359. 

Spinal cord, structure and 
functions of, 36; figs. 10, 12, 
13, 14, 16, 17, 18. 

Spontaneous attention, 85^.; re- 
lation to interest, 420. 

Starfish, nervous system of, fig. 
6. 

Strain, as affective element, 
304. 

Strain, sensations, 102, 428. 

Subconscious, the, 82, 455. 

Substantive states of mind, 201. 

Symbolic nature of presenta- 
tional consciousness, 246. 

Sympathetic system, 56^. 

Sympathy, 348. 

Synsesthesia, 156, 



Tactile centre in cortex, 42. 

Tactile image, 199f. 

Taste, sensations of, 119; end- 
organ for, 120, fig. 38; cen- 
tres in cortex, 42. 

Telepathy, 455. 

Temperament, 390. 

Temperature, sensations of 
111^.; end-organs for 114/"., 
figs. 36, 37; centres in cortex, 
42. 

Tendons, sensations from, see 
sensations of movement. 



Third dimension of space, per 
ception of, 184/f. 

Thirst, sensation of, 118; appe- 
tite of, 431. 

Thought, order of, 206. 

Threshold, see limen. 

Tickling, 112. 

Timbre, 125. 

Time, Chapter VII., Section II., 
190jf. 

TITCHENER, 367. 

Tone, as auditory element, 124. 

Touch, sensations of, 111^.; end- 
organs of, 114f., fig. 37; 
cortical centres for, 42; images 
of 199f.; in space perception, 
173, 178, 180, 188. 

Tympanum, fig. 43. 



Unconscious, the, 82, 455. 
Unity of thought, 96. 

Vision, sensations of, 131; end- 
organ of, 139, figs. 47-49; cen- 
tre in cortex, 42; mental 
images of, 199^. 

Volition, Chapters XX.-XXII.; 
relation to attention, 402; to 
imagery, 401, 408; to char- 
acter. Chapter XXII. 

Voluminousness of sensations, 
173. 

Walking, 338. 

Warmth, sensations of, 111, 

Weber's law, 146. 

WEISSMANN, 343. 

Will, see volition, 

WUNDT, 304, 329, 343, 383. 



'AUG 



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